The One Who Knows
by Melika Elena
Summary: With a family who hates her, Princess Elia's life is anything but a fairytale. Things worsen when a foreign prince, son of King Derek&Queen Cecilia, comes to marry her sister but instead falls in love with Elia. The consequences are deadly. HIATUS INDEFINITELY
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"_I had so many dreams about you and me. Happy endings, now I know." – Taylor Swift 'White Horse' _

Tonight was the start of the rest of his life.

The candles flickered alluringly over his handsome face, making the lightly tanned face all the more golden. Dark, ocean blue eyes scanned the room, passing over all of the guests, only lingering in a few places. His father had outdone himself this time: the ballroom was impeccably decorated, every detail meant to be some sort of an aphrodisiac. From the red rose petals scattered on the ground to the rich gold drapes adorning the walls to the thousands of candles twinkling above on the ceiling, the room was meant to coax love and romance out of every attendee.

Prince Charles of Inglin was normally a rather charming and easygoing young man, but the weeks leading up to the ball were filled with sulking and very unbecoming tantrums. He thought that the idea of a ball was ridiculous; what was the point of such a charade when the marriage ensuing was destined to be an arranged one? But his father patiently explained to him that this ball was the only chance Charles would have to pick his bride—if he did not, then an outside marriage would be arranged.

"I wanted to give you the same opportunity my father gave me," King Richard explained, picking up his wife's hand and kissing it. "And look how well it turned out. Besides, balls exude romance, and you know how women love being wooed."

Charles scowled. "Why can't you just set up the marriage for me? You know how I hate these stupid games between men and women. We all know here that the alliance of my marriage is far more important than love or affection, so why go through with this farce?"

His mother, Queen Jane, sighed as Charles left the room. "Richard, how ever did he turn out this way? There is no need for him to be so pessimistic."

Richard pursed his lips. "I assure you I know not," he told his wife. "I just hope that he grows out of it. This kingdom needs a practical ruler, not a cynical one. The people will not respond favorably to him. If they do reject him as king… then I hate to think about the future of this kingdom."

But now that he was here, Charles supposed he might as well make the best of it. After all, it would be something if he found someone who he may grow to care for. If he had his way, he would not marry any of the girls his father had chosen. Charles wasn't stupid; he knew that while his father claimed that this was a great "opportunity" for Charles to pick his bride he knew that his selection would only be from the women that his father deemed worthy enough to receive an invitation to the ball.

Charles sneered. And what women they were. Although the ball was for the prince's 21st birthday, everyone knew that was merely a title and that the ball was held in order for him to pick the kingdom's next queen. It was sickening what some of the women were willing to do in order to gain his attention. Whether it was low-cut necklines, an appalling amount of rogue and powder on their faces, or the most blatant, scandalous flirting he had ever been subjected to, Charles was disgusted by every single guest he was forced to converse and dance with.

"Si-sire?" Stammered a voice to his left. Turning, Charles saw Nigel, one of his father's advisers. Although he was a nervous, timid man, Nigel was his father's favorite due to his loyalty and competence.

_But why do his advisers have to be so damn twitchy? _Charles wondered silently. He straightened his cravat; they made him nervous as well. "Yes, Nigel?"

"Your- your father wanted me to ask if there were any young women that caught your eye," Nigel swallowed. He knew how touchy of a subject this was in particular and loathed doing Richard's dirty work for him. Although, he supposed that was what he was being paid for.

Charles scoffed. "Look around, Nigel," he said with a sweeping motion of his arm. "Does it look like there is anyone who would possibly catch my eye in a way that is not whorish?"

Nigel fidgeted nervously but then he stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly as his eyes took in something beyond Charles's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly clear and calm as he rudely pointed and asked, "What about her?"

Charles turned.

Far across the room, by the entrance, stood a young woman. Because she had arrived so late, the announcers had already departed, and Charles was left mystified as to whom she was. He had never seen her in his life, and although he did not know all of the guests his father had invited personally, he generally knew their title and had probably glimpsed them before. This girl, however, was completely foreign to him.

It wasn't as though she stood out much. She was very pretty to be sure, but so were many of the other girls present that night. But there was something so refreshing about her, the way her face had little cosmetics about it, letting her big green eyes be the focus of her heart-shaped face. Her hair, long and blonde, was loose, except for two braids that held back her bangs. Her dress was a simple, virginal white, the fine material boasting of its quality.

Although it was tempting to immediately go up to her, snatch her away before another man seized the opportunity, Charles was content to watch her for a moment, let her green eyes soak up the atmosphere. It was odd because she was dressed like a noblewoman, yet the way her eyes looked at everything made him think she had never been exposed to such finery. Of course, it was more than likely she had never been to the castle before, thus explaining why he had never seen her.

He took his time in approaching her, leaving Nigel behind as he focused in solely on her. Charles was only a few feet away when she finally noticed him. She blinked confusedly at first, but then her cheeks flushed pink. He bowed to her and she curtsied. When they straightened he told her, a calm smile on his face, "Welcome to the ball; His and Her Majesties are glad you could attend and hope you enjoy yourself. There is food and drink in the banquet room next door and dancing and the main festivities are here in the ball room." He held out his elbow to her. "Unless you were interested in eating, would you like to have this dance?"

She looked at him amusedly as he gave his opening speech, but it was hard for him to know if she recognized him. There was no batting of the eyelashes or saccharine smiles, but just pure attention given to him. "I would be honored," she murmured, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her onto the dance floor.

There was not much time to talk during the dance, but what time they did have, they would merely look at each other and smile. All of the previous confidence Charles had faded away as he looked at her. It would be so easy to try and attain her favor like he could for the rest of the girls there, but he knew that casual flirtations and corny lines would not work on her.

"May I inquire as to what your name is, my lady?" Charles asked her as they moved fluidly between the other couples.

"Cinthia," she replied with a slight smile. "My father was the Viscount Latimer, of Danby."

Charles's eyebrows rose. "I was unaware he had a third daughter," he told her. The Viscount had been dead for some time, leaving behind a widow, if he remembered correctly, and two daughters, whom he unfortunately had the horror of meeting earlier. Piggish and priggish, the girls and their mother were a few of the worst gold-snatchers he had the misfortune of meeting. They had not mentioned a third daughter.

Luckily for Charles, Cinthia was not offended by his remark, but he saw her eyes darken ever so slightly. "My stepmother… does not like people to know of my existence. I am from my father's first marriage, you see, and my stepmother would prefer that only her two daughters have the attention from the royal court."

Cinthia drew out a long necklace from her bodice. On it hung a ring. Perching it on an open palm, Cinthia showed it to Charles: it was the Viscount's signet ring. "He wanted me to have it," she told Charles as he, forgetting about the dance altogether, stopped to inspect it. "He gave it to me shortly after his remarriage. I think he knew, even then, what sort of woman he had married. But by then, of course, it was too late."

"I see," Charles said, deeply concerned for Cinthia. "Does she… treat you well?"

Cinthia simply looked at him for a moment, but he could see a multitude of emotions in her eyes: sadness, anger, hurt, and something darker, something he could not quite name. "No."

"My Lady, I am so sorry," he told her, feeling a strange wave of affection crash over him. He felt compelled to protect her. It was probably the chivalry in him, he mused humorously.

"I have grown used to it," she said, putting on a small, brave smile on her face. "I have told myself that I will rise above them all, and prove them wrong about my worth."

Charles thought that very brave of her, and found her ambition and strength two admirable qualities that a potential queen should have.

Catching himself, Charles inwardly frowned. Within five minutes of meeting her, he was already singling her out as his future wife? It was preposterous and completely unlike him.

And yet… out of everyone he had met, Cinthia was, by far, the most enjoyable one in the room. Her smile was pleasant and genuine, she conversed well, and lord, was she beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the room, of that much he was certain.

"If you do not mind me being so bold," Cinthia said slowly, as their third dance ended, "what is your name, my lord?"

Charles bowed. "Charles," he told her as he rose.

Cinthia blinked. "As in—as in the Prince?"

Charles laughed, genuinely enjoying himself for the first time that evening. "Yes, I am afraid." As Cinthia flushed crimson and curtsied deeply, Charles said, "I am terribly sorry. As arrogant as this sounds, I assumed that you knew who I was. I forget your circumstances and how you might not have ever been to Court before."

"I have before," Cinthia said once her embarrassment faded, "but I was very young—before my mother died—and I barely remember anything."

"Do you not remember what the king and queen looked like?" Charles asked innocently.

"It is all very vague," Cinthia said, not catching his point. "I suppose I would recognize them if I saw them, however."

A clock began to chime in the distance.

"Well, then," Charles began, turning to where his parents were seated at the front of the room. Both had their eyes on him; his mother looked pleasantly surprised while his father looked curious. As much as he loathed to admit it, it was them he had to thank for setting up the ball. If they had not, he might have never met Cinthia, and now he wanted them to meet her as well, to gain their approval on the girl he was going to marry. "Would you like to-?"

But when he turned around to look at her, she was gone. He looked around wildly only to see her running up the steps from the ballroom and into the night. _What in the devil is she doing...? _he thought bewilderingly to himself.

As much as Charles wanted to call after her, he did not want to make a scene. Instead, he pushed his way through the crowd after her, trying to be as discrete as he could.

He made it up the stairs and once he got to the top and looked out into the starry night, she was gone. Feeling something nudge against his foot, Charles looked down. Glittering in the dim light from the castle was a delicate shoe. It was very plain, the heel no more than two or so inches, no buckle or adornment in sight. What made the shoe noticeable, however, was that it was made entirely from glass.

0 0 0

Cinthia tore through the night, jumping over fallen branches and loose roots, praying her dress would not snag or have mud stains she would not be able to wash out. It was bad enough that she had lost one of her precious glass shoes, but to ruin her mother's wedding dress was unthinkable. Of course, the horses and carriage she had brought to the castle had disappeared; heaven knew where they were. Before the ball, when she was alone at the manor, debating on whether or not she should go, outside she saw a plain black coach and two white horses. She went outside and found it to be abandoned, and impulsively decided to use it as a means to get to the ball. Now she realized it was too good to be true and she should not have taken it; they must have gone back to their real owners, or said owner found them at the ball and took them back. But finding them was a sign, wasn't it, a sign that she was destined to go to the ball? There were so many signs that day—from finding her mother's old wedding dress and glass slippers, hidden away in a trunk she found while cleaning the attic, to the carriage, to meeting the Prince (oh the Prince!)— signs that made Cinthia sure that this was a night made for her.

Things hadn't always been like this—where she had to sneak around just to get out of the house. She remembered her father, and she remembered her mother, and the love that seemed to pour out of them whenever she was around. She remembered long hugs, soft kisses, and bedtime stories with warm milk.

And she remembered both funerals. First, her mother's, when she was five, where she wore a stiff, black-laced dress and did not understand why her mother had not come to tuck her in that night.

Despite her mother's absence, Cinthia had led a happy life with her father. He spoiled his daughter, giving in to her every whim. Cinthia found that replacing her mother with material items gave her a sense of security and meaning.

That security was sorely threatened when her father decided to remarry when she was ten years old. Instead of choosing another noblewoman, her father married his housekeeper, something frowned upon within circles and something little Cinthia did not approve of as well. She did not like having her servants telling her what to do! And although her stepfamily had been good to her those first few months, Cinthia resented them for taking away her father's time, attention, and money. She hid it well, treated them cordially, completely unsuspecting of the loathing in their eyes of the pretty, titled girl.

Once her father died—a few months after he remarried—Cinthia found her stepfamily cornered her, taking away all of her lovely things and reducing her to a servant. "_Now you can see how we lived all of these years, spoiled girl." _She fought back in the beginning, but her stepmother was still bigger than her, and the lashings quickly silenced the young girl. Her stepmother liked to tell people that her stepdaughter ran away and never let anyone see Cinthia. In essence, she did not exist.

Since then, she grew up, quietly serving them but inwardly seething with hatred every time she saw the way they squandered their money on pretty baubles that Cinthia secretly wished she could have. She never forgot her old life and sometimes Cinthia cursed herself for remembering too much.

All of the troubles she had gone through—the verbal, emotional, and occasional physical abuse she endured those long years from her stepfamily—seemed behind her. Although Cinthia did not realistically envision that the Prince would marry little old her, that night was a magical night that made the loneliness, the despair of other long nights worth it. This night, she would remember, if only because it would help get her through the nights she knew she would have to endure in the future.

By the time she finally got to the manor—three miles away from the castle—Cinthia was relieved to see there were no candles or fire burning in the windows. She had gotten home before them.

Nevertheless, she crept in through the back door. She lit a fire and as she turned around, still in her finery, she saw her stepmother, flanked by her stepsisters. In their hands they held rope and horse whips.

"Coming back from the ball, _princess_?" hissed her stepmother, drawing closer. "We saw you, trying to seduce the prince like the common whore you are. It clearly didn't work, and now you shall have to pay the consequences of disobeying our orders of staying behind."

Saying nothing, Cinthia swallowed and closed her eyes, willing the earlier events of the night to take her somewhere safe as a hailstorm of whips rained down upon her.

0 0 0

Charles took a bite of his apple as he hummed a tune to himself. He found himself in his favorite room in the entire castle—the kitchen. Charles had always loved the atmosphere of the kitchens; it was warm and homey, with enough chaos and excitement to entertain him, and enough stability and motherly women to make him feel secure and like he belonged.

At a young age he befriended the head cook's daughter, Rosella, and for many years the two were inseparable playmates, something Charles's parents did not approve of, but tolerated. As they grew older, the two saw each other less and less, each preoccupied with their own duties. But their friendship never died and Rose was still privy to all of Charles's woes and triumphs, which was how it came to be that she was the first to hear of Cinthia.

"Rose, her eyes were just—the most incredible thing I have ever laid eyes on," Charles crowed, waving his arms about in excitement. "She was so—everything about her was so—"

Rose smiled. She was a pleasantly pretty girl, with dark, curling hair and smiling amber eyes. "So I suppose your night turned out to be better than expected?"

"Yes!" Charles said. "Although I can't imagine why she left so abruptly..."

"Isn't it obvious?" Rose said, throwing some berries into a creamy concoction she was stirring. "You told me she left just as the clock was striking midnight. She was trying to get home before her stepfamily did. Your Cinthia must have known the time they were trying to get home and trying to avoid getting caught."

Charles frowned. "I hope she made it to her home before they did. I must act quickly. I am to meet with my parents soon and tell them if I have chosen any maiden. I will tell them about her and then, I shall go find her and rescue her from her evil family!"

Rose chuckled, taking some freshly baked bread out of the oven. "My, aren't you the knight in shining armor?"

"I suppose I am," he told her, crunching loudly upon his apple. "She makes me feel the need to take care of her. Her life seems so horrible and I want to give her the things she has never had."

"Well, if there's anyone who can take care of her, it is you," Rose told him, giving him a warm smile, her eyes affectionate.

"Thanks, Rosie," he told her, giving her a small peck on the cheek, as he left the kitchen, completely unaware that Rose's gaze turned wistful as she watched him leave.

0 0 0

Charles knocked on the door of the Latimer estate, and then immediately thought better of it. His plan had seemed so simple in his head, but in reality, what had he been thinking?

Once he had explained everything about Cinthia's circumstances, his parents immediately approved of the union. His mother had said, "If I hadn't have seen the girl with my own eyes, I would not have believed that she was nobility. However, she looks exactly like her mother, the late Viscountess, so she mustn't be lying."

Charles was baffled. "You thought she might be lying?"

"Just because she has the signet ring does not mean she is the real daughter," his father told him, slightly discomforted by his son's naivety. "She could easily be naught but a maid who stole the trinket. But since her resemblance is so great, your mother is right: Cinthia is the daughter of Viscount Latimer. Besides," here the king chuckled slightly, "the way Cinthia's stepfamily burns through their money, no one would believe they have enough to hire a maid."

The queen shook her head. "That poor girl," she murmured. Seeing Charles's distraught face, she said, "Bring her home, dearest."

With his parents' blessing, Charles hastily left, grabbing the agreed upon engagement ring and Cinthia's glass shoe (he would have to ask her how she acquired such a unique bauble) and, accompanied by two of his men, sped off on his horse towards the mansion. He did not want to waste any more time to find her and be with her.

The manor was in rough shape. The piece of property it sat on was once well-kept and serene, but weeds overran the property, the flowers long dead. The brick was chipping and faded, and the shutters were in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. How could anyone stand to live in such a place? Knocking on her door, Charles worried more about what he would find inside the manor, rather than out. How was he going to deal with her stepfamily?

The door began to open; he was going to find out.

To his utter shock, it was Cinthia. But it was not the girl he had met last night, although she was in the same attire. This Cinthia looked haggard, pale, and about ready to collapse. She was still in the gown from the night before, but it was filthy, the bottom two inches brown with mud and dirt.

"Cinthia!" he gasped.

Once she saw who it was, her eyes went wide and she said not a word.

"Who is at the door, girl?" he could hear a voice bark in the background. "Answer me, you deceitful whore!"

Shocked at what he was witnessing, Charles too was speechless as Cinthia's stepmother came to the door.

"Your-Your Highness!" she stammered, going into a wide curtsey. "What brings you to our humble home?" By now, her two stepdaughters had come, their eyes hungry with greed and longing as they tried to get a better view of the prince at their door.

"I am here because I am in love with your stepdaughter," Charles said, standing up straighter and leveling her with a hard stare, "and I have come to take her and marry her."

The blood drained out of the Viscountess's face, leaving her with two ugly patches of rogue on her cheeks. "You-you are?"

"Yes," snapped Charles, drawing Cinthia into his arms. She flinched violently and spinning her around, Charles almost wished he had not.

Criss-crossed on her back were multiple lacerations, which were clearly visible through the scoop back of the dress. Dried up blood was everywhere, seeping through the white of the gown, now stained in dark red and brown. Charles was horrified with the amount of blood and puss oozing from the sores. He was stunned that Cinthia could remain upright, let alone could answer the door. And perhaps the most disturbing thing of all was beneath the new wounds, were white scars from old ones. They were faint, but Charles wondered how he missed them earlier.

"How did this happen?" he uttered, his voice crisper than ice.

"I, I…" the stepmother trailed off.

Finding her useless, Charles turned to Cinthia, whom he held, very gently, by the upper arms. He spun her around to face him again. He held a hand up to her cheek, whispering, "Who did this to you?"

Tears filled the girl's haunted eyes. "All three of them," she choked out.

"That girl is a liar!" roared the stepmother, finally finding her voice as her two daughters squawked behind her as well.

"Arrest them," Charles told his guards, who immediately went to the women, quickly subduing them. "I want them in the foulest dungeon below the castle."

He turned away, guiding Cinthia to his horse, hoping she could endure the pain a little longer before the healers could look at her.

Before he left with Cinthia, Charles addressed the three women, who were wailing uncontrollably. "I will ensure that you three receive the harshest punishment imaginable."

Charles was true to his word. The day of his and Cinthia's wedding, he rid his wife's torturers from the kingdom forever: he had them hanged.

It was not long after the wedding, however, that Charles realized that the girl he met at the ball was not the same one who he married. Whatever happened that night of the ball when Cinthia returned back to the manor had broken her. Though her wounds eventually healed, it took a long time for her eyes to not look so haunted, and for her stare to not be so blank, and for her to engage in extended conversation again.

The king and queen were worried about her and especially the reputation of the kingdom. People were talking about the new princess—how crazed she was and how the prince had chosen a beautiful, but dumb bride. The commoners and townspeople were terrified at the hangings of the Latimer wife and daughters, afraid that their prince married a lunatic who would have the prince kill anyone who she disliked. The maids had no shame and would whisper about Cinthia within her hearing, uncaring that she might hear, for she never reacted.

When Cinthia did emerge from her daze, however, months later, she was filled with a bitterness and anger that Charles had never imagined she was capable of. Although she never reacted to what was being said around her, she clearly had absorbed it and remembered it. She lashed out at the maids, her revenge for all the cruel words they said about her previously, and she grew to be suspicious of the common people, for she knew what was being said about her.

To her husband, Cinthia was grateful to, but there was no love between the two. She did not know him and he did not know her, and through stilted conversations and awkward dinners they learned that they had nothing in common: their upbringings were so vastly different that their perspectives on the world were as well. And with Cinthia's new outlook of being paranoid and cold to all commoners, Charles knew that their marriage was doomed: she hated the very people he had sworn to serve and protect.

It soon became evident that Cinthia thought only of herself and her newfound wealth. She took great pride in her access to material items and in the beginning Charles spoiled her, giving her what she hadn't had for so many years. But soon Cinthia began to abuse that privilege and Charles cut her off, giving her a monthly allowance so that she would not "squander away the royal fortune on stupid trinkets."

Those words burned into Cinthia and thus began lifelong battle between the two of what Charles thought was right versus what Cinthia wanted.

It made Charles miserable and all who loved and knew him were made miserable as well: Rosella, now the head cook, tried to make his favorite meals for him on particularly rough days, but could only watch as the man she once knew turn into someone cold, heartbroken, and angry. Charles seemed to withdraw in himself, and although he never displayed the cruelty his wife did, he threw himself into his work as a new king and was no longer the charming, cheerful young man he used to be. He was serious, blunt, and almost unfeeling. He was a good, considerate king, and the common people liked him for what he did for them, but they were also intimidated by the man who never smiled anymore. There was nothing anyone could do, however. Divorce or annulment was not an option, because by that time, a year after their marriage, Cinthia was pregnant with the first royal heir.

Luckily, the child was a son: James Reginald the first. Cinthia tolerated him, did her motherly duties, but for the most part left him to the maids and nannies. Any kindness or motherly instincts she may have had once were no longer with her. As for Charles, although he had changed in many aspects, he now had one soft spot: his son. Charles adored James and was very attentive to him, making sure he gave him the affection that he knew James would never receive from Cinthia. James was immediately set on being groomed to be the next ruler, which Charles took great care in overseeing, making sure that James had a good balance between studies and play time.

When James was a toddler, however, Charles was summoned by a mysterious letter to the country of Fraanc. There he learned that the Crown Prince there was, in fact, a werewolf. He felt appalled, threatened, and cornered, and was very alarmed by Prince Derek's secret. When war broke out between the countries, one almost as widespread as the world war that dominated Charles's childhood. Determined to keep his child and his country safe, Charles remained neutral in the war, but knew that someday he would have to rebuild his relationships with the countries of Italle and Fraanc, the victors of the war.

That time had passed however, and Charles was faced with another surprise. Everyone in the palace assumed that since their child was a boy, that Cinthia and Charles would not have to procreate any longer, but, after a ball, the two monarchs, who were very drunk, angry and repressed, managed to conceive another child. This time, however, the child was a girl: Victoria Catherine. From a political standpoint, Charles mused that having a girl would be good so that he could potentially create a political alliance from her marriage, an idea that he had ironically loathed as a younger man. From a parental standpoint however, secretly, Charles had hoped that Victoria would be his "little girl", but it was evident that the moment she was born, she was wholly and entirely Cinthia's creation.

A carbon copy of Cinthia from her blonde hair, pointed nose, and green eyes to her arrogance and sense of entitlement, Charles could only watch as Cinthia doted and spoiled the girl, hardly ever letting Charles come near her, for whatever reason. Charles could only watch as he was barred from one of his children. In hindsight, he should have fought harder; he was, after all, the goddamn king, but he had so many duties to attend to, that he let his wife have her way.

Some years later, however, something odd occurred on a stormy, blustery night. Charles awoke in his chambers to find that, oddly enough, he was not alone. He looked down and as the lightening flashed, he saw pale blonde hair spread across his pillow. It was Cinthia.

She was fast asleep and Charles understood what had happened: Cinthia was deathly afraid of storms—however, she seemed not to know it. On nights like that, it was normal for her to be found wandering the palace, sleepwalking. That particular night she had sleepwalked into Charles's bed.

A bit later, she seemed to half wake up, and began to kiss Charles. By that time, he too was half asleep and both seemed to not realize what they were doing. In the morning, they convinced themselves that what had happened the night before was naught but a dream. However, nine months later, another baby was born.

Her mother wailed the moment she was born; she had just gotten her figure back to the way she wanted it to be before she found out she was pregnant. Cinthia felt resentful that Charles had not let her abort the child and thought that there was no need for another child: they already had a boy to inherit the throne and a girl to marry off. Realistically, Charles knew this as well, but he took one look at her and saw his reflection in her face. He had found his little girl.

Charles named her Eliana Elizabeth, a name Cinthia spitefully called ugly but one that Charles thought unique. Unlike his other children, Charles had no specific political plan for Eliana and for some reason that pleased him greatly. He knew that this child would create her own path in this world.

How she would create that path, however, would change the kingdom of Inglin forever.

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**Author's Note: **Hello, everyone! It has been a very long time (too long, in my opinion) since I have last written and for that I apologize. To those of you who haven't written me off in frustration, you deserve a gold medal in patience, one that you, I am sorry to say, will continue to need. I make no promises on updates of this story, but I have the full outline completed, so hopefully it will not be too difficult. I want this story to be written in a way so that I will not have to edit it later, unlike OATGITW.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. It will be more character-driven rather than plot-based and I hope I do my characters justice.

Enjoy and tell me what you think!

M. Elena

18 July 2010

_Edited: 14 June 2011 _


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_Seventeen Years Later_

"_Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." – Semisonic 'Closing Time'_

Derek had received many letters before, but this one by far was one of the most surprising and unexpected he had ever received. And coming from him, that was saying something.

The ruby red and deep blue of the seal indicated that the letter was from King Charles of Inglin, a man Derek recalled only ever meeting once, and the meeting was far from pleasant. Although, to be fair, he could hardly blame that solely on Charles—that meeting, in general, was unpleasant. Having every leader from the western world learn that he was under a curse—not to mention a werewolf—was controversial, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Derek held nothing against Charles, who had remained neutral during the small, albeit damaging, war. He learned later that Charles had had a new wife and newborn son that he was concerned for and of course, Derek understood the need to protect those he loved.

The letter was short enough, which Derek appreciated, and to the point. It spoke of how Charles wanted to improve relations between the two countries, and had felt such a need for a while. Charles invited Derek and his family to come stay at the palace in Inglin in order to get to know each other and build a friendly alliance.

Derek re-read the letter several times. Though it was hard to judge one's character through letter writing, Derek prided himself on having a good sense of judgment and instinct, something he supposed he could accredit to the curse he was once under. Charles seemed sincere, and the straightforward nature of the letter was something Derek liked. There were no pretenses, games, flattery, or fancy language, just an honest desire to strengthen a relationship that was sorely lacking.

Nevertheless, Derek decided to show the letter to his wife, Cecilia. A smile crept onto Derek's face just thinking about his beloved wife. They had been married 21 years and the love between the two was just as strong as the day they were married.

Mid-life had been kind to the two monarchs, as their childhood and adolescence had not been. They were blessed with twins- one boy and one girl, Raoul Cesario and Caralina Marguerite, their respective middle names coming from their beloved and deceased grandparents. The two children were a perfect combination of Derek and Cecilia and were raised to be wonderful rulers for both Fraanc and Italle. Raoul and Caralina knew what country they would be ruler of since they were children, but their parents kept that secret from the public. The only reason Derek and Cecilia even made such a decision so early in their children's lives were because they needed to put it in their respective wills. However, although Raoul was to rule Italle and Caralina Fraanc, they wanted the people to accept both children as their rulers. Their parents only guessed which would be more suitable to rule but soon feared they chose incorrectly; Caralina was more outgoing and outspoken like the people of Italle while Raoul was quieter and proper, like the people of Fraanc. However, Derek and Cecilia had the utmost confidence that their children would be great rulers for whichever country they ruled in the future.

Because Cecilia was Queen of Italle and Derek was King of Fraanc, there were many difficulties in joint ruling. The two decided against formally merging the two countries into one, knowing the people would not approve. Although they considered the two countries one, they kept the finances and laws of each country in tact. However, to their delight, the people were welcoming of one another, and since the laws of trade between the two countries were so much easier than previously, there was a good deal of travel and mingling between the nations.

The idea of ruling in two separate castles, one in Pareis and one in Roame, was distasteful to Derek and Cecilia, to say the least, so they built a modest castle on the border of the two countries. Cecilia left her younger sister, Isobella, in Roame to take care of things there, and Derek appointed someone trustworthy in Pareis to run things there. The two often traveled to their respective capitals but hated to be away from each other and their children for long, usually only staying a few weeks or so.

Luckily for Derek, when Charles's letter arrived, both he and Cecilia were staying at their border castle, so when the two were climbing into bed for the night, he showed her Charles's letter.

She read the letter, the slight wrinkles in her face growing deeper as she frowned slightly. Cecilia was silent for a good while, clearly re-reading the letter like Derek did. He waited patiently for her to finish, patience something the ex-wolfman acquired in his adulthood.

"What do you think, my dear?" he asked her once she folded the letter back up and placed it on her bedside table.

"I think he is being sincere," Cecilia finally said. "I do not remember Charles much from that dreadful night, but I suppose we have no right not to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, I do not know when we shall have time to go to Inglin. After the floods in Italle and the drought in Fraanc, our farmers need our assistance more than ever. I do not wish to be rude and refuse his invitation—" here Cecilia slyly raised an eyebrow at her husband, "for we all know what happens when a man's invitation to stay at his castle is rebuffed."

Derek narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.

Cecilia continued. "But we are needed here."

Thinking of something, Derek smiled, drawing his wife close with an arm around her shoulder. "You forget, my love, that we are not alone in this. We have two perfectly wonderful and able children who would do well to learn the art of diplomacy."

"You with your plots and plans," Cecilia laughed. "You sound like your mother."

"I'm serious," Derek told her. "They are both grown now and have been schooled well. We would not have to worry about them making fools of themselves for they have the intelligence and poise to keep their heads about them. Why not send them?"

Cecilia blinked, looking at him in surprise. "I do agree with you, my dear, that are children are wonderful and able enough, but you would think that at least once of us should go with them? This would be, after all, their first mission."

Derek chuckled at that. "Now you sound like your father," he teased her. "Come, come, Cecilia, what would you have said if your father had forbidden _you_ to go to a foreign land? Oh wait, we all know how that story goes—"

Whack! A pillow came flying at Derek, hitting him at the side of the face. He grinned however, knowing that since his most gentle wife was resorting to violence, that she had no verbal rebuttal to give him.

Therefore, he was right.

And therefore, he won.

A smile, disturbingly like his mother's, spread across Derek's face.

0 0 0

"What a grand adventure it shall be!" Came an excited squeal from behind the screen. Raoul could see clothes flying everywhere, bombarding the poor maids trying to catch all of them. He was in his sister's room, right after their parents had informed them at dinner that the two were to go on their first diplomatic mission to Inglin, without their parents. Both siblings were beyond shocked, but Caralina, in typical fashion, recovered first, and immediately raced upstairs to prepare, although the trip was a week away. "It has been so long since we have been abroad, and we rarely go anywhere beyond Spainne and the main continent. Why, we've only been to visit Mother's friends in Scoughtlyn and Eyerlin once!"

Raoul was unsure which was going faster: the clothes flying about or his beloved sister's mouth. "You're overwhelming poor Genevieve," he drawled lowly, indicating one of the poor maid, who was trying desperately to catch all of the clothes before they reached the ground and not wrinkle them as well.

"Oh!" A dark, curly head popped out from the side of the screen. "I'm so sorry, dearest Genevieve. I suppose I got too excited again."

"it is quite all right, Your Highness," Genevieve gave a limp smile, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "I can understand your excitement."

"Nevertheless," Raoul said from where he was perched, lying lazily across a chaise, "you do not need your whole wardrobe in attendance with you. The Inglish will think we are naught by materialistic snobs."

Caralina turned up her nose, although her dark eyes, so much like her father's, twinkled. "I call it being well-prepared. You know how drastically different their weather is from here."

"Inglin has similar weather to Pareis," Raoul told her. "You know that. You just want to show off your new clothes."

"So what if I do?" Caralina said. "I mean, I am a girl first and foremost. Besides, I consider my clothing a way to show my personality!"

Raoul rolled his eyes. "You do have the strangest notions," he told her. "You know that society doesn't care a bit about a girl's personality as long as it consists of being dutiful and quiet."

Caralina scowled. "Well, I was not brought up to be such a girl."

"No," Raoul said gently, "you were brought up to be a queen. Though, to be fair, Mother is certainly the opposite of any conventional lady, monarch or no."

"It is what has helped Italle succeed in years of late," Caralina said, defending her mother out of habit.

"You do not have to tell me that," Raoul said, a small smile flickering on his solemn face. He stood and kissed his sister on the forehead. "Do not worry, Caralina, the Inglish shall adore you no matter what attire you are in. But do not forget that you are more than a pretty face and pretty clothes, no matter how much you may fool us into thinking otherwise."

Caralina smiled. Her brother, no matter how oblivious and serious he could be at times, always seemed to know her true intentions.

She turned away from her clothes and faced the door to her chambers, which her brother was now exiting out of. "Where are you going?" She called after him.

"To pack," he said over his shoulder, a wry grin coming across his face and an eyebrow raised. "I can't have you looking better than me, now can I?"

Caralina laughed as he left, knowing he was going to do no such thing. Her brother, although she loved him dearly, cared naught for what others thought about appearances: as long as he was doing right by the people, that was all that mattered.

Sometimes Caralina wished she could be as selfless as her brother. He had so much ambition to better himself and become the best ruler he could be. Raoul seemed to have no inadequacies or insecurities about become the future king; it was something he was born to do.

It made Caralina feel as though she could not measure up. And how could she? She loved lovely things, like clothes and planning balls, and other frivolous, useless things. She knew, realistically, that she was a good ruler. Unlike her brother, Caralina was good at talking with people, at putting them at ease and understanding them. Raoul was more like their father, rather blunt and forceful, although not unkind. But Caralina wondered if she would have what it took to rule a kingdom, although secretly she hoped that whomever she picked to be her king would have qualities she lacked, and together, they would be the perfect leaders.

That seemed like a far-off dream, however. She was nineteen and had no potential mate in sight. She had had suitors, to be sure, but her parents had approved of none of them and Caralina always found something lacking in them as well.

Of course, she was not as bad as Raoul. The man had no use for courting, and had said more than once that he would be fine with his parents just choosing someone for him. To his parents, however, the idea was horrifying, and Caralina understood why. They could not imagine life without the other and could not imagine why anyone else would want to marry someone who wasn't their soul mate, though Caralina secretly thought that her parents were being a little naïve. Not everyone was so fortunate as to have the requirements for their soul mate spelled out for them as easily as Derek and Cecilia did.

Caralina always felt guilty thinking that, however. Her parents had faced many hardships in order to get where they were today and knew that she would be forever grateful for their sacrifices; they were determined to give their children the childhood that they did not have.

Caralina sighed and turned back to her packing. Hopefully she would not have to worry about becoming queen for a very long time, and by then, she would have her king beside her.

0 0 0

Sometimes it was hard for Cecilia to believe that her children had grown up, and they were now the age she was when she met and married Derek. She remembered the day they were born, and Derek had been so scared, especially once they had learned there were twins and that Cecilia might not survive. She had laughed hysterically, drugged with herbs and pain, and told him that she was merely giving birth to a "litter" in order to make their "wolf pack" complete. Needless, to say, Derek was not amused.

She remembered how Ilario was frantic over them, protecting them like a third parent until the day he died a few years ago. He never let them out of his sight, abandoning sleeping in Derek and Cecilia's chambers to sleeping in the nursery. He loved to lick at their hair and cheeks. At first Cecilia was slightly alarmed, but Derek, recognizing the gesture, merely said that Ilario was trying to groom the children, despite their squeals of protest and laughter.

And Cecilia remembered their childhood, their adolescence as their personalities crystallized and they became the completely unique, wonderful adults they were of the present. So different, but their qualities complemented each other so well, and Cecilia was confident that they would become great rulers someday.

When Raoul had requested an audience with his parents, Cecilia was startled, to be sure, but took it in stride. As he stood before them, however, she was once again struck with how similar Raoul and Derek looked. They had the same coloring, same height and posture, and mannerisms. It was like looking at a copy, until, however, one looked at his eyes. Raoul had inherited his mother's light, honey eyes. Cecilia thought this was good because it softened Raoul's serious, staid face. She adored her son but sometimes, he needed to lighten up—the opposite problem Caralina had. Clearly the gods were laughing at her expense and did not give her children their characteristics in moderation; while Caralina loved to have fun, almost too much, Raoul avoided it at all costs.

"What is it you wished to discuss, son?" Derek said, smiling at Raoul. If there was one thing Cecilia was glad of, it was the bond between Derek and Raoul. The two were so similar, something that Cecilia was wary of initially. Both men tended to be very closed off and formal, but Cecilia's fears were for naught. As a young boy, Raoul adored his father, and Derek, of course, wanted to be the father to his son that his father could not be. Cecilia had to remember that men did not bond the same as women did, and instead of talking, gossiping, and shopping, like Cecilia and Caralina did to bond, Raoul and Derek would instead take long walks together, do activities like riding and hunting together, and merely enjoy each other's company. Raoul trusted Derek's opinion and in turn Derek always treated Raoul like his equal; the respect between the two was the foundation of their relationship.

"I wanted to discuss with both of you my upcoming trip to Inglin," Raoul said. "I have been doing some research on the country and its monarchs, and have discovered some interesting bits of information."

Both Derek and Cecilia leaned forward in their chairs, frowning slightly, as they watched Raoul, who stood before them, declining a seat. Raoul had decided to meet with them in their library, a place the two monarchs liked to escape to after dinner for some private time. As loath as Raoul was to interrupt such time, the library was an ideal place to meet because it was enclosed, private, and not as intimidating as the throne room. Raoul always thought such things out.

"Is it something we need to be concerned about?" Cecilia asked worriedly, glancing at her husband.

"No, no," Raoul blinked, cursing himself for worrying his parents. At this time he wished Caralina was here; she always knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He, on the other hand, had a knack for creating confusion and misinterpretation. "Nothing to be alarmed about. From what I have gathered, Charles is a good and fair king, and his children are exemplary as well. However, I did notice that both of Charles's daughters are, um, available and was wondering on your thoughts if I courted one of them?"

Derek and Cecilia blinked, their jaws slightly ajar. Of all the things they thought Raoul wanted to discuss with them, this was certainly not it. Raoul never spoke of courting or young women, ever. He carried on as though they did not exist, and although he did his duties at balls and other events, he never showed any particular interest in any young woman.

Derek cleared his throat. "What brought this on, Raoul?"

"I am getting older, you know," he said seriously, unknowingly revealing how young he truly was, to be saying such things. "I am the age when Mother married you, Father, and I know that I need to begin to think of such things. I think it would be advantageous to marry one of the Inglish princesses, particularly the eldest, and create a more formal alliance with them. Of course, I would not make my intentions known until I got to know the princesses better, but I feel that my plan is sound and has good merit." He finished, and, although he had maintained steady eye contact with his flabbergasted parents during the duration of his presentation, only now did he truly allow himself to gauge their reactions.

They seemed, just as he had predicted, stunned, and Raoul let out an inward sigh. He loved his parents, truly he did, but not everyone was as fortunate as them and would not find their "True Ones". Raoul was being practical about the situation, and he knew already that this would be a tough battle to fight.

"Raoul," Cecilia took a deep breath, having recovered first. "While we appreciate your pragmatic thinking, I feel that you need to spend more time considering this. Marriage is more than a political alliance, you know. Although you are perfectly capable of running a kingdom on your own, you and your queen need to provide a united front, and should complement each other in your personal attributes, morals, and child rearing techniques."

"That would be ideal," Raoul conceded. "However, Mother, we all know that many political marriages are not as fortunate as yours and Father's. I am willing to take the risk that my marriage may not be as successful. Also, if I do not feel that the Inglish princess would be a suitable queen for the throne, I will not pursue her. I just feel that this is a worthy venture that would be advantageous for everyone."

"Everyone except, perhaps you and she," Derek said quietly, eyeing his son seriously. "Although our first duty is to our people, Raoul, as parents we only want you to be happy. We are certainly not going to force you into a loveless match."

"I know you would not," Raoul said, trying to clamp down his frustration. "But as I said, I am getting older, and I am sure everyone in the land would feel more secure knowing that I have someone to help carry on the line with."

Both his parents winced at the formal language Raoul was using, but knew that they would not change his mind. Raoul was quite stubborn, and, much to their displeasure, his plan was quite sound. Cecilia thought briefly that he shared the same mindset about marriage that both she and Derek did prior to meeting each other. Perhaps her son was right in taking the more practical approach.

"We will not forbid it," Cecilia said, "but we want you to think long and hard about whether you want to court either of these princesses. Take time to get to know the princess before you announce your intentions. Do not make a hasty decision because you feel it is the most practical."

Raoul almost rolled his eyes. Once again, the women in his family liked to make rather idiotic comments about his character. Did they not realize to whom they were talking to? When had Raoul ever made a hasty, ill-planned decision in his life?

"Thank you for your time, Mother, Father," Raoul said, bowing to them both. They had all been given something to think about for the night. "I appreciate your advice and will most definitely take it into consideration. I shall see you both in the morning. Good night."

He turned to go but his mother's voice called him back. "Good night, darling," she told him, her wonderful, soft smile on her face. "We love you."

Raoul swung his gaze to his father, who gave a sure, firm nod in agreement.

"I love you both as well," he told him, his voice lowering, and a slight smile on his face as he exited. It was hard to be annoyed at his parents for long when he knew their intentions were only for his own best interest.

But he knew in his heart that marrying an Inglish princess was the right thing to do, and the more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. Hopefully the princess would agree.

Raoul had decided to set his sights on the elder princess, Victoria. It seemed only logical, after all, and it would hardly do to court both girls in plain sight. From what he heard, Victoria was very beautiful and accomplished, whereas he heard virtually nothing about the younger daughter, Eliana. An irrelevant thought flittered through his head, however, that the name Eliana seemed much more intriguing and pretty than Victoria. Immediately, however, Raoul scoffed at himself. What was in a name, anyway?

Now, of all times, was not the time to become a sentimental fool.

Not when he had his own marriage to arrange.

0 0 0

**Author's Note: **I didn't know when I would be able to write another chapter, but luckily for everyone, I got my wisdom teeth out, and have been forced to be a couch potato for the next week. So it works out. Thanks to all readers, new and old, who have decided to check out this story! For those of you who haven't read "Of All the Girls in the World," the companion to this story, you don't have to, but some of the dialogue and inside jokes (especially from this chapter) would make more sense and seem that much more special, haha.

Please tell me what you think. I do not have a beta so I edit everything myself, something that I may have to change in the future, so this chapter may be riddled with errors and awkward sentences. I had an especially hard time writing "Raoul" instead of "Derek" and "Caralina" instead of "Cecilia"; I've gotten so used to those two being my protagonists it's hard to change them! Anyway, I take everyone's feedback very seriously and appreciate every single comment, positive, negative, or otherwise.

Thanks again!

M. Elena

2 August 2010

_Edited: 14 June 2011 _

**Review Responses: **(I will try to reply to each and every review; if you have an account I will respond through that, but if not, your response will come at the end of the chapter!)

_Let'sGoSquirrelLetsBeAwesome__: _I'm glad you like the story so far! I'm glad that everything came across well. I find it hard sometimes to make the emotions in the story just right; it's difficult to show the reader and not just tell them. And do not worry, you shall get to see more of his oldest and youngest children in the next chapter : ) Thanks for reading and reviewing! Enjoy


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"_Fragile as a leaf in autumn, just falling to the ground without a sound. Crooked little smile on her face tells a tale of grace that's all her own." – Norah Jones ' Seven Years'_

In Victoria's opinion, beautification was an unrecognized and underappreciated art. It took so much time to reach the perfection that was needed for the day, and few people realized how much time was involved. Her hair needed to be brushed one hundred strokes (each side mind you,) and then needed to be arranged into an elegant knot by her hairdresser with not a hair out of place. Her skin needed to be clearer than a cloudless summer's day, with a dab of rogue to give her color but not enough to make her look like a whore. The faintest hint of black kohl from Eegypt would line her eyes and brushed on her lashes to make them the darkest black.

Then her dress needed to be selected. Today it was velvet green, in the exact celery green of her eyes, she had made sure of it. Underneath was the corset to make her waist come to the narrowest point—she had the maids pull at her for nearly three quarters of an hour to make sure—and finally, when she was dressed and primped to perfection, Victoria turned expectantly to her beloved mirror.

The mirror was her pride and joy, an oval full-length piece of the clearest glass, surrounded by pure gold in a peculiar design of swirls and spikes, with emeralds and rubies scattered throughout. Her dearest mother had it put together for her when she noticed her daughter's fascination with her reflection at a young age. It should be noted that that fascination never faded.

"I have outdone myself this time," she murmured in her throaty voice, appraising herself slowly. "If he does not fall to his knees before me the moment he sees me, well, then he clearly must not be interested in women," this was said with a small little snort at her attempt at humor.

"Your Highness," her maid, Jane, came into the room, very slowly and hesitantly. "His—His Highness Prince Raoul is set to arrive in a quarter of an hour if you wanted to go to the entrance to greet him."

"Thank you, Jane," Victoria said imperiously, still eyeing her reflection. "I am glad you actually decided to follow orders this time. I would hate to have to replace you, what with your... delicate condition."

Jane paled, touching her flat stomach. "How—how did you know?"

Victoria smirked, finally turning away from the mirror. "Dearest Jane, so naïve. When are you going to learn that you can't keep anything secret from me?" She let Jane huddle in fear for a moment before barking, "Now leave me. Your whimpering is annoying."

Jane scurried away in relief, almost breaking out into a cold sweat.

Victoria turned back to her reflection one final time. "It is time to put the plan in motion," she said to herself. "Starting with His Highness Raoul." At a young age, under the tutelage of her mother, Cinthia, two qualities were instilled in Victoria: independence and cunning. Cinthia would tell Victoria how the ultimate limitation placed upon the women of the world was their dependence upon men. Cinthia had to rely firstly upon her father's second family to survive and then her husband, both parties whom she despised. Therefore, she attempted to give Victoria the education that would ensure that Victoria would want for nothing.

In order for that to come true, Victoria had to put herself in a position of power. And the position she wanted was Queen of Fraanc and Italle. Everyone automatically assumed that Raoul would rule both countries, as rumors of his flighty sister were rampant across the continent, and Victoria knew that to be queen of not one, but two countries would solidify her power. She was not afraid of Raoul controlling her; as long as she behaved herself well, the two could live comfortably in two different palaces at all times, unless duty dictated otherwise. And if he did not cooperate… well. She had other means of persuasion besides her good looks.

What her mother did not know, however, was that Victoria's plans were grander than merely becoming Queen of Fraanc and Italle. But now was not the time to get ahead of herself. Phase one had be completed successfully in order to begin phase two…

Victoria swept out into the hallway, her strides fluid and sure. However, her gaze was so direct that she failed to see her younger sister in the hallway. She bumped into her and scowled. "Watch where you're going, you useless oaf," she seethed. "I will not have you ruining this day for me, and if you do, the gods will help me strike you down dead."

0 0 0

Elia stared at her sister evenly. "I am sorry, Sister," she said, careful not to let any sarcasm lace her tone. "I shall be sure to stay out of your way today, as I try to do all days."

Victoria gave a snarl of a laugh. "You think you are so precious because Father and James protect you," she grinned, her teeth looking menacing. "But you have no idea what you are up against. One day you will understand that," and with that, she stalked away.

Princes Eliana, or Elia, as she was known to everyone else, continued down the hallway, thankfully in the opposite direction. The verbal abuse she received from her elder sister was never ending, and while she used to be frightened of it, now Elia knew it to be a part of life. When they were younger, Victoria would do nasty things to Elia, whether it was put foul herbs in her soup, creatures in her bed, and ruin her gowns and dolls, but as they grew older, Victoria's threats became more verbal as opposed to physical. While she could be downright nasty if she wanted to be, whether it was humiliating Elia at a ball or cutting her down in front of others, for the most part they stayed out of the other's way. Elia knew Victoria would do more if it not for their father and brother; they held the purse strings and Victoria did not want to be on their bad side. While her father and brother had made it clear that Elia was to be treated with the utmost respect, they both had incredibly busy schedules, making it easy for Elia to be mistreated without them knowing. Elia found it distasteful to 'tattle' on her sister, and thus, did not. Instead, she tended to trail her brother and father around; she did not mind because she enjoyed learning about politics and knew that Victoria would never follow her into meetings and hearings.

Elia did not particularly care to be a 'useless oaf' but had to admit that she preferred to rely on the men in her life to protect her rather than suffer under the insults of her sister, and occasionally, mother.

Speaking of the latter woman, Elia was displeased to find that she was walking in the direction towards Elia, although she seemed to be gliding on air as opposed to walking. As usual, she looked completely flawless, not a single strand of blonde hair out of place. Her stance was proud, her eyes cool, and she looked every bit of the lady that Elia knew she herself would never be. When she was younger, Elia loved being around her mother; she was fascinated with how perfect she seemed, but as she got older Elia saw the mood swings, the depression, the erratic behavior that simmered beneath. The perfect and regal façade Cinthia liked to fool everyone with was only a mask to disguise the ugly and charred soul underneath. And Elia, unfortunately, tended to suffer the brunt of her mother's behavior, until she avoided her mother altogether.

"Eliana," her mother's voice was always very soothing and regal. It was odd that while the tone of her voice was so nice to listen to, the words she said were so nasty. "I wanted to speak with you."

"Yes, Mother?" Elia asked, trying to keep her tone as neutral with her mother as she did with Victoria. Her mother was more erratic than Victoria in her moods, and Elia never did understand why they hated her with such vehemence.

"It is about the prince who is coming today," Cinthia said, her eyes sharpening upon her daughter. Whatever freakish personality traits her mother had, Elia could not deny her beauty, the same beauty she shared with Victoria. The two women were striking together and easily passed as sisters. Elia, however, took solely after her father, inheriting his blue eyes and dark hair. For that, she was thankful, but there were some days where she wished she was as beautiful as the other women in her family. "He is here solely for your sister's sake, so I want you to say as little to him as possible, do you understand?"

"Is he?" Elia could not help but say. "I thought Father invited him—and his sister—here for purely diplomatic reasons."

"Stupid girl," hissed Cinthia, her lip curling in disgust. "This is your sister's opportunity to get away from this godforsaken place and make something of herself. If you do anything to sabotage it, I will make your life a living hell."

Elia nodded demurely, not wanting to cause any trouble. "Yes, my lady." What she was thinking, however, was, _How much worse could my life become? _

Her mother nodded tightly and left.

Elia stood there for a moment, and then quickly changed routes, taking the back ways and secret passages to the kitchens. She would hate to have to see either of those two again; her morning was nearly ruined at that point, and she was hungry.

0 0 0

There were many times that Elia was grateful for her great-grandparents, King Andrew and Queen Elizabeth. The two monarchs were known to be incredibly materialistic and vain, spending money on frivolous things like grand balls and palace remodels, but they were the ones who completely destroyed the old castle—an old, archaic, stone monstrosity that was cold and unfeeling—or so Elia had seen in various portraits. They replaced it with something more modern and warmer. The old gray stone was replaced with ivory limestone that looked incredibly elegant. The inside was paved with limestone and marble, with elaborate rugs in many of the corridors that kept warmth in. For that Elia was grateful, especially now, when it was that dreary time between winter and spring, where cool drafts still manage to invade through cracks and opened windows.

Elia loved her home, despite the fact that at times, it still seemed so cold and sterile to her—although she knew that it was because of the people who inhabited it, not the decor. So Elia made the palace her playground; she liked to explore the hidden passageways and rarely used wings of the palace. Some of the passageways led to the outside and Elia thought so many times about running away, but if she did, she knew she would have no place else to go. So she stayed and made the large, sometimes forbidding, palace her own.

There were certain areas she avoided—mainly her mother and sister's quarters—but there were some places that she could spend all day in. The kitchens were one of them.

Because her great-grandparents threw lavish balls quite frequently, it was necessary for them to build a spacious and well-equipped kitchen. The area, on the ground level of the palace, was a series of large rooms connected by arched, open doorways. There were rooms specifically for storage, dairy making, bread making and baking, and so on and so forth. The palace even had its own special winery, although that was done in the cellars to keep the wine and grapes cool.

Elia loved the kitchens. The floors were a smooth, tan stone that felt cool and soothing on bare feet, especially on a hot summer day. The walls were done in a warmer, earthy color unlike any other place in the palace. Best of all were the various cooks and servants. It was a bit of a congregation area; palace servants, maids, and farm hands alike passed through the area frequently, and one of the large rooms was dedicated to servants taking their meals there. Although she was one of their employers, the servants tried to treat Elia as one of their own, or as much as they could anyway; some could not shake the sense of propriety and class division. Nevertheless, they were all very well aware of how she was treated by her family and sought to remedy it. She frequently dined with them as well, unless there were some dignitaries visiting that she had to be present for. With an inward sigh, Elia reflected that due to the arrival of the Prince and Princess, she would not be seeing much of her comrades for a while.

While she would miss everyone, she would miss Rose the most. The royal family's current head chef, Rose was a good friend of her father's, and there were many times when Elia would come down for a snack and find Charles and Rose laughing over something. More often than not it would be because Charles would insist on helping Rose cook something and when she let him, he would inevitably end up ruining it completely. Elia always enjoyed those moments; her father was always too serious and completely consumed with work, the latter trait one that her elder brother James inherited. Elia knew that her father's relationship with Cinthia contributed to his solemn and often stern nature, and to see him bond with Rose always caused a feeling of wistfulness within her. Seeing them interact was the closest she had seen of a non-dysfunctional relationship. It made her wish her father had married Rosella instead of her mother—but of course, that was impossible due to Rose's status. And, she supposed, if he did not marry Cinthia, then neither she nor James would exist. However, when she saw the glowing smile on her father's face, it made her wish for impossible things.

Today, luckily for Elia, was one of those rare occasions where she found both her father and her brother in the kitchens, laughing and joking with Rose. While James loved the kitchens as much as Elia, he was constantly working, gradually taking over some duties from her father, and thus had less time to spend in the kitchens. Or, if he did, it was at opposite times of Elia.

Rose saw her first. "Elia, dear," she said, waving her over with a spoon in hand. "Come try this! I made rosemary beef stew, but with some slight alterations. I think it is my best version yet!"

A wide grin on her face, Elia hurried over. Her father kissed her head when he saw her. "How has your day been so far, my dear? We missed you today at the morning meeting with the advisers."

Elia blushed. "I'm afraid I slept in today, Father. I'm terrible sorry about that. It won't happen again."

Charles smiled. "Nonsense. Everyone deserves a rest day now and again. Besides, it was quite boring, if I do say so myself." His blue eyes, so much like hers and James, twinkled. Elia drank it all in; it was so rare that her father was like this, so completely at ease, that she wanted to memorize every moment.

"James Reginald!" they heard Rose screech. "You put that bowl away right this instant. It is not time for supper yet. I only told you that you could only have a taste."

Both turned and saw Rose, a deep, playful frown on her face, whacking the future ruler of Inglin on his hand with a wooden spoon. The latter took it quite well, merely laughing good-naturedly and darting away before Rose could swat at him again.

"Hello Dearest Sister," he said jovially, giving Elia a kiss on the cheek. With his charming nature, approachable persona, and golden good looks, James was Inglin's pride and joy. He, along with her father, was one of the few bright spots in Elia's life.

"Hello Dearest Brother," she responded gleefully as she accepted a spoonful of stew from Rose. Tasting it, she exclaimed, "Rose, I do believe that this is your best stew yet!"

Rose preened, her face brightening, but said, "Hopefully the Queen thinks so as well."

Rose and Cinthia always had a tense relationship, to say the least; many assumed it was because the Queen did not care for the close friendship her husband and two children had with Rose. While that was understandable in itself, many were perplexed because Cinthia seemed to despise the other three members of her family; why did she care whom they associated with? Nevertheless, Cinthia made a habit of routinely sending back whatever dish Rose made for the night, using lame excuses such as,

"Tell Rose that the soup is simply dreadful and is much too hot for consumption."

"Tell Rose that the pig is just not tender enough for me to chew. Why must I do all of the work in order to eat?"

"Tell Rose that the leaves of the lettuce in this salad are just not green enough, which means their quality must be poor. Send it back and get me fresher greens."

The excuses went on and on. Rose always came back with a "more satisfactory" dish, and although she treated Cinthia with the utmost respect, one could see the venom burning in her eyes whenever she was forced to converse with the queen.

Elia just smiled comfortingly at Rose. "Since when has Cinthia's opinion ever been a worthy one?" She wanted to know.

Rose smiled gratefully back. "You always know just what to say, dear," she said, handing Elia a small bowl of stew, to which James cried out, "How come she gets a bowl of soup and I do not?"

Rose turned, snapping, "For heaven's sake, James, you're a grown man of three-and-twenty! It's high time you started acting like it."  
The servants around them hardly reacted as they scurried about. They had grown used to the fact that the Head Chef, for whatever reason, was allowed to treat the Royal Family like children, and, for whatever reason, they let her.

Elia grinned at the scene. "Do you feel adequately prepared to serve our guests, Rose?"

Because the Prince and Princess came from such food-oriented cultures, Rose had panicked, feeling that she could not serve food that the monarchs would enjoy. Thus, she spent her time perfecting her recipes and studying the cuisine of Fraanc and Italle, just in case the Prince and Princess craved foods from home.

"I think so," Rose said. "Although I hope they don't expect me to cater to their every whim!"

"Oh, heaven forbid," Charles muttered, but his eyes were dancing and his expression was mischievous, "even though it is your job and everything."

His response was a whack on the hand from the wooden spoon.

Just as Charles opened his mouth to reply, a manservant scurried in. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing. "Pardon my interruption, but the Prince and Princess of Italle and Fraanc are approaching the Main Gates and should be here momentarily."

A change came over the three royals. The three seemed to straighten, their shoulders going back and their eyes sharpening. They thanked Rose for the stew and quickly left the kitchens with the manservant.

Upon turning onto the main hallway, Charles, conversing with the manservant rapidly, unknowingly quickened his pace so much that he left his children behind. He turned a corner sharply and was out of sight.

Amused, Elia and James simply watched him go, their pace informal, but brisk. James held out the crook of his elbow to Elia. "Shall we go and greet our guests, Sister Dear?" He queried.

"I suppose we shall, Brother Dearest," Elia said with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

"What ails thee, Elia?" James said, playfully matching her theatrics.

"I suppose having guests in the palace is good for everyone," Elia said carefully, "because it gives them something to look forward to and plan—I really think it is a morale booster for the staff, you know. However, I find that having guests is nothing but trouble and I wish for nothing except for the whole ordeal to be over."

"And in six months, it will be," James said. "But until then, you'll just have to grin and bear it, I'm afraid. Why are you dreading it so?"

Elia bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she should tell him about the threats from Victoria and Cinthia. But what good would it do? It would just cause unnecessary tension on a day where it shouldn't. The Prince and Princess would sense it, and the ties her father wanted to so carefully create would already be tarnished. No, it was no use telling James. Besides, there was nothing to worry about. She would just stay away from the Prince as much as she could. Hopefully the Princess, his sister, would be pleasant.

However, it was best to merely hope for the best… yet expect the worst.

"I just… am not good with strangers, that is all," Elia eventually replied.

"Nonsense. You do perfectly well with strangers! You have made remarkable strides to overcome your shyness," James said encouragingly.

"I suppose so," Elia said with a slight smile. Her shyness stemmed largely from the insecurities fostered by her relationships with her mother and sister, who enjoyed putting Elia down, the latter especially. However, under the kind instruction of her father and brother, who merely misinterpreted her insecurities as a severe case of shyness, Elia learned how to clearly speak and articulate her thoughts. In time, their encouragement and gentle words worked more wonders than the actual lessons. Elia was now much more confident around strangers and while she could acknowledge her strengths as an individual, there were still times when her sister and mother would make her question her own worth. And she hated that they still had their power over her. But until Victoria was married off and gone, there was little she could do to rectify the situation.

"Oh look!" James said, stopping abruptly at a large open window. "There are the carriages."

Trotting up to the entrance were two carriages, a number that Elia was surprised about. She thought that the two royals would have much more luggage than that. The carriages themselves were sleek, black, practical looking carriages, with four horses to each one. Each had the two crests of Italle and Fraanc on them and Elia thought them to be quite nice looking.

Elia was content to stay at the window and admire them, but James tugged on her hand impatiently, like a little boy. "We mustn't be late, Elia," he told her. "You know how hell-bent Father and Cinthia are about making this day perfect. And if we are not there to greet our guests, there will be hell to pay."

The two broke out into a run, stomping down the grand stairs, narrowly avoiding the equally frenzied servants around them. By the time they got to the main door, however, they were walking at a very regal pace. If Elia and James's hair looked slightly windblown, well… hopefully no one would notice. The run gave the two a healthy glow and both Cinthia and Victoria looked displeased at it. The two said nothing, however, as Charles beamed at them: "There you two are! I was afraid I lost you."

"We decided to take a more leisurely pace," James answered smoothly.

"And you were almost late because of it," Cinthia snapped.

James, used to his mother's outbursts, kept his temper. "Almost being the key word," he told her coolly. He straightened his clothes and said nothing more.

Elia ignored the glares coming her way, her eyes fixed on the carriage before her. She folded her hands in front of her and waited for the first carriage door to open.

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**Author's Note: **I'm so dedicated I updated while on vacation! I had no internet and lots of relaxation time for a long time, and now that I got internet back, I thought I would give you guys a back-to-school chapter.

After this, I don't know how frequently updates will come, so please be patient with me. As always, I take everyone's feedback very seriously and appreciate every single comment, positive, negative, or otherwise, so please review and tell me what you think!

Thanks again!

M. Elena

27 August 2010

_Edited: 14 June 2011 _

**Review Responses: **(I will try to reply to each and every review; if you have an account I will respond through that, but if not, your response will come at the end of the chapter!)

_daring2dream__: _I don't think that Raoul and Caralina are too much like their parents; Raoul may have Derek's seriousness, but he is more practical and level-headed than Derek, I think. As for Caralina, she is more frivolous and girly than Cecilia ever was. It would be odd to arrange your own marriage, but… that's Raoul! Haha. Thanks for reading&reviewing! I appreciate it.

_D__: _I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks for reading&reviewing! I appreciate it


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"_Another summer day has come and gone away in Paris and Rome… may be surrounded by a million people I feel so alone." – Michael Buble 'Home'_

Raoul was surprised by how difficult it was to leave his parents. He was unconcerned about traveling—as a family they had traveled across several continents and oceans, but he had never traveled without them. And now there they were, at the docks on the shores of Fraanc, preparing to travel the channel to Inglin.

His mother was tearful when sending them off. "I don't know how my father did this," she kept muttering to herself as she fussed with her handkerchief and fussed with Raoul's hair and fussed with Caralina's cloak. Derek, for his part, remained the calm one, patting Cecilia on the shoulder every time she got too emotional. His eyes, however, gave him away: while they were amused when looking at Cecilia, they were tender and wistful when looking at his children.

Cecilia decided to distract her emotions by firing off questions at her children, intermixing questions about what they packed to various etiquette and cultural questions about Inglin. Derek stood to the side, trying to hold back laughter.

Roaul and Caralina answered each question promptly and correctly for a while, but when Caralina got one wrong, she grew still, her eyes growing big as she realized her mistake and the chaos that would ensue. Right on cue, Cecilia shrieked, "See! They're not ready to go, Derek! We can't—"

Derek rolled his eyes and pushed a glass of wine into his wife's hand. "I can see that you inherited your craziness from your father, although I wish this personality trait had shown up while we were courting," he muttered.

Cecilia's head swirled around and she glared at him, which Derek was hoping for. It would take her attention away from the children. "Just drink the wine, dearest," he urged her.

She sipped it anxiously as Derek went to Raoul and Caralina, giving each of his children a hug and a personalized parting.

To Caralina he whispered, "You will be fine, my little one. Do not second-guess yourself and your capabilities. You will win over everyone at Inglin's court just as you have here. "

To Raoul he murmured, "I know that this trip is a diplomatic one, but do not hesitate to have fun. Don't over think things… sometimes it is best to do what_ feels_ right."

With those pieces of advice given, Derek pried Raoul and Caralina out of Cecilia's arms and they finally boarded the ship.

They watched it sail away into the dark waves, the sky above gray but clear, and the wind strong and gusty.

Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder, still as strong and sure as it was twenty-odd years before. "They will be fine, my love, do not fret," he told her. "At the very least, they have each other."

A long moment passed and, much to his surprise, Cecilia looks up at him with a genuine smile on her face, although tears were still sprinkled on her cheeks. "I know they will be," she told him. "This trip will be good for them. They will find out who they really are."

The two stood out at the docks for a while. Eventually Derek left his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek and telling her not to be too long, and went back to the castle. Although he was loath to leave her alone, he knew that she needed the time to herself.

Cecilia only stayed out for a little longer, watching the waves and thinking. She turned to go, but when she reached the end of the docks, she faced the waters one last time.

"I wonder what the gods have in store for them," Cecilia murmured, a small smile etching over her tear-stained face as she remembered the beginning of another journey that started so long ago.

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The remainder of the journey was smooth and relaxing. They made good time by both sea and land and both basked in their newfound independence. Caralina marveled over the landscape of the country, feeling that with its rolling green hills and foggy mornings it had a natural, spiritual feel to it. Raoul missed the warm Mediterranean weather himself, but admitted that Inglin had its own charm.

They saw the palace from miles away—it was perched on a green hill like a white beacon in the night. It was large and majestic, overlooking the bustling city. Raoul and Caralina did not think it would be so large. Gradually, however, the city gave way to various cottages and manors, where smoke curled out of their chimneys charmingly.

It was a sweet scene, and both Raoul and Caralina took in eagerly. That castle was to be their home for the next six months, and identical feelings of anxiousness, excitement, and dread arose in their stomachs.

A footman rapped on the carriage window politely and said loudly and clearly, "Pardon me, Highnesses, but we will be arriving at the palace in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Jacques," Caralina answered, trying to remain calm—and failing. She turned to Raoul, eyes lit up and face animated. "This is it, Raoul. Our first diplomatic adventure!"

Raoul smiled. "You would call it an adventure," he told her.

"And what would you classify it as?" Caralina wanted to know.

Raoul thought for a moment. "I would call it a mission, I suppose. One to repair alliances between our countries and Inglin—"

"And one to get you married to an Inglish princess," Caralina cut in, sneering. "You do realize how utterly ridiculous your plan sounds, don't you? Who in the world arranges their own marriage?"

"When you have parents as sentimental as ours you do," Raoul shot back. "Not everyone can be in love like they can."

"But everyone should be," his sister shot back. "Don't you think you're making a hasty decision here? What if you cannot stand this girl?"

"I'm not going to propose to her right away," Raoul rolled his eyes. "I will court her properly of course. At the very least I will first gauge whether or not she is worth courting. If not, I won't pursue her. I may not need to be in love in my marriage but I certainly don't intend on being miserable."

"Well, at least you are being somewhat rational about this," Caralina muttered, although Raoul heard her anyway.

"Rational?" Raoul was offended. "I am nothing but rational!"

Caralina shook her head, though, and simply said, "You are practical, Raoul, but practicality does not necessarily equate to rationality as well."

Raoul opened his mouth to respond, closed it, paused, and frowned as he thought about how to formulate his answer. But before he could reply, the carriage stopped. They were there.

Caralina had to resist the urge to pull aside the curtains and get a peak at the royal family whom she would be staying with for the next six months. She wanted to, so badly, but it was so unladylike and she knew that if she could see them then they most certainly could see her as well.

The carriage pulled to an achingly slow stop. Inside the carriage, Raoul and Caralina remained silent, looking at each other with wide eyes, finally realizing what it meant to be there without their parents, their physical and diplomatic protection. It started to sink in how the political relations between Inglin and Italle and Fraanc depended solely upon them. It was a frightening thought.

Jacques rapped on the door, and opened it. He stuck his head in. "We are here, Your Highness's," he murmured. "You both shall do wonderfully," he reassured them. "The king and queen have confidence in you," a sudden grin appeared on his face. "As do your people." He left as swiftly as he entered and became the dignified footman once more.

Raoul took a deep breath and gave his sister a shaky smile as he exited the carriage. He did not spare the royal family a glance as he quickly pivoted to the other side of the door, waiting for Caralina. Both he and Jacques helped her out of the carriage and Raoul noticed with relief that she did not trip as she was so susceptible to do on many occasions.

He offered his sister his arm and she took it. Facing forward, they drank in the sight of their host family for the first time as they began to move slowly towards them.

The king and queen were slightly in front of their children, their arms linked, although Raoul detected a tension in both of their shoulders that neither could hide. The king was tall and broad-shouldered. He was a dignified, handsome man with dark, gray-streaked hair and deep blue eyes that were solemn, but kind. His wife confirmed all of the rumors Raoul and Caralina heard about her, good and bad. She was a beautiful woman, with light blonde hair and mint green eyes. Her figure was impeccable and she carried herself with a natural, almost unworldly grace. Despite the welcoming smile etched into her face, it did not reach her cold green eyes.

Almost automatically, Raoul's gaze swung to the queen's right, where her daughter stood a ways behind her. Rumor had it she was the queen's twin and once again, those rumors were correct. Victoria was in every way her mother's daughter, and Raoul looked at her and thought, 'This could be my future wife someday.' Her mint green eyes were like her mother's, hard and unforgiving, but he hoped that her smile would be warm.

Caralina, in the meantime, focused on the prince and princess were, to the king's right. The Crown Prince and his youngest sister looked similar to each other. The Crown Prince was a combination of his mother and father; his hair, a sandy brown, was much lighter than his father and sister's, with streaks of honey and gold intermixed, and his eyes were a light, clear blue. She looked at him and felt herself smile, almost involuntarily. To her surprise, he noticed and gave her a sweet, shy smile back. Caralina's eyes sharpened on the teasing elbow in the prince's side; the princess saw the exchange between the two.

Raoul noticed it as well. He caught his sister's smile out of the corner of his eye and the Crown Prince's returning smile. Raoul's attention was captured by the little elbow subtly digging itself into the Crown Prince's side. The Crown Prince startled and turned to his younger sister, the latter of whom was completely unaware that now three pairs of eyes were upon her. She was quite petite and rather pretty, her coloring and features coming solely from her father. Her arm was looped comfortably with her brother's and though she seemed at ease with him, when her gaze turned to Raoul and Caralina, the cute flush she had earlier left and her eyes seemed very vulnerable and shy. It seemed like she was trying to make herself as physically small as possible, hiding behind her broad-shouldered elder brother. It almost worked, really, but there was something in her face, a little half-smile, that intrigued Raoul and he couldn't look away. It didn't seem like she had a lot to smile about here, if the fractured family was any indication.

Oh, they put on a good front, but it was painstakingly obvious by aesthetics alone who was close in the family. The Crown Prince and his younger sister were standing to the side of their father and the elder princess on the side of her mother. Their parents were united physically but it was clear they did not enjoy it. It was obvious that there was a divide in the family. Raoul and Caralina exchanged quick glances; it would be, for sure, an interesting six months.

Although this perusal seemed like ages, it happened in a matter of moments and before the twins knew it, they were standing inches away from the king and queen. King Charles and Queen Cinthia bowed to them. "Welcome to Inglin," the king said, his voice deep and rumbling. "We are so glad that you could come; it is our honor to receive you."

Raoul and Caralina bowed in return. "Thank you for having us," Raoul responded after finally finding his voice.

"We feel honored that such a generous invitation was extended to us," Caralina smiled and Raoul was once again amazed by her way with words.

King Charles returned Caralina's smile and went on to say, "Let me introduce you to everyone, shall I? I am King Charles, as you probably have guessed—" this garnered a few chuckles. "This is my wife, Cinthia," Caralina and Raoul bowed again.

Cinthia inclined her head and gave the twins a winning smile. "If there's anything either of you need, please, do not hesitate to ask."

Charles raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. With a sweeping motion with his hand, he indicated to the three children behind him. "This is James, my eldest," he said, as James and Caralina and Raoul bowed to each other.

"This is Victoria," Cinthia cut in, her voice smooth and cultured, "second in line." Victoria curtsied, her eyes never leaving Raoul, giving him a flirtatious smile similar to her mother's.

"How do you do?" She seemed to purr.

"And this is our youngest," Charles said, "Eliana."

"What an unusually lovely name," Caralina commented, as she curtsied.

"Thank you," demurred Eliana, her voice soft, eyes downcast with black lashes sweeping her cheeks. It was unnerving Raoul how much he wanted to stare at her. He tore his gaze away and found King Charles to be talking again.

"Come," he was telling them. "We shall show you to your rooms; I am sure that your journey has been long and tiring. Dinner shall be served at five in the evening, and you may rest until then."

"What time is it now, Your Majesty?" Raoul wanted to know.

"It is around noon, Your Highness," Charles responded. "That should leave you and your sister roughly five hours to rest. If you feel that you are too fatigued, however, I shall have someone bring dinner to your rooms?"

Both Raoul and Caralina protested. "We shall be ready precisely at five," Raoul said. It would seem horrendously rude if they missed their first dinner with their hosts.

"Splendid!" Charles said, clapping his hands together. "Come, we shall show you to your rooms now."

The castle was as glamorous on the inside as it was the outside. The white marble and limestone gleamed as the sunlight hit it and illuminated the various tapestries and portraits that adorned the hallways. While Caralina and Raoul were no strangers to castles—as their family had three—this one was no mere castle but an absolute palace. There was, however, something very austere about it, something very cold. They were used to rustic castles in dense forests or comforting manors in the middle of Roame, but this was something entirely different. They were truly in a different world.

They were led up a grand staircase and from there the two separated; Raoul went with Charles and James to the left and Caralina went with Cinthia, Victoria, and Elia to the right.

Raoul was led down a hallway that was covered in marble but the floors were filled with plush rugs and the hallways charmingly lit with candles.

"These shall be your quarters," Charles told him. "James and mine are not far from here so if you need assistance, please do not hesitate to call upon us or our servants. Your things shall be up shortly. Please rest and I shall see you at dinner."

"Thank you for your kindness and hospitality," Raoul told both men. They bowed to each other and departed.

Raoul stepped into his room. It was spacious, but cozy, tastefully decorated in dark blues and deep reds. He would explore his quarters later; but now, he found himself to be incredibly exhausted. He loosened his cravat, flung it away, and fell upon his bed, propriety be damned. He was asleep in moments.

Caralina, however, was wide-eyed and felt very awkward as she followed the three women up the staircase, two of whom she was convinced could kill her in her sleep. Fearfully, she looked back to find Raoul, but the men had already disappeared. She was truly alone now.

The walk down the hallway was silent, and Victoria and Cinthia never attempted to converse or even turn and make sure Elia and Caralina were still following. Eliana, for her part, would pause every few moments to make sure Caralina was still there, giving her a reassuring smile some of the time. Caralin wobbly smiled back, feeling grateful for the third girl's presence.

"Here are your quarters," Cinthia said, stopping at a door and giving Caralina a slight smile. "I hope you find them satisfactory. We shall see you at dinner, promptly at five."

Caralina gulped inaudibly. "Yes," she said, keeping her voice even and clear. "Thank you for your—" she almost said 'kindness' but stopped. "Hospitality," she settled on.

Cinthia and Victoria said nothing but inclined their heads and left promptly. Caralina let out a large sigh before she realized Eliana was still standing there.

"Would you like to accompany me to dinner?" Eliana asked her. "I realized that neither you nor Prince Raoul have any inclination as to where the dining room is."

Caralina smiled in relief. "That would be lovely," she told her.

"I shall stop by here at a quarter to five to escort you," Eliana said. "And then we may go fetch Prince Raoul as well?" she asked, instinctively knowing the two would want to arrive together.

"That would be lovely," Caralina said, her smile wide. "Thank you so much, Princess Eliana."

Eliana smiled, and the effect was charming, lighting up her whole face. "It is my pleasure, Princess Caralina," she said. "And you may call me 'Elia'."

"Elia," repeated Caralina. "It's lovely."

"Thank you," Elia said, and then backed out of the room. "I shall leave you to rest and shall see you soon. If you need any assistance, my quarters are down the hall and to the right."

"Thank you," Caralina said. The two curtsied to each other one last time and Elia left.

Caralina looked around. Her room delighted her, much to her surprise, and the color scheme of a soft lavender and grey charmed her, just as almost every other thing in the castle did.

Caralina realized, with a shock, that this room would not merely be her room for a week, but months—half a year. This was her new room, and this was her new, albeit temporary, new home.

There was no turning back now. All she could do was look forward.

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**Author's Note:** Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I just saw the movie "Tangled" and it inspired me to write again. It's been difficult lately with school and work and life… I knew this would happen yet I'm sorry it did. It's been exactly three months since I updated and I hope it doesn't happen again. I hope that over Christmas break I'll be able to churn out a couple more chapters. Thank you for your never ending support and patience.

Thanks again!

M. Elena

27 November 2010

_Edited: 14 June 2011 _

A few changes have been added since this was originally posted, mostly in Cinthia and Victoria's behavior towards Raoul and Caralina. New readers, disregard this—old readers and re-readers (oh how I flatter myself!)—take note!

M. Elena

22 March 2011

**Review Responses:**(I will try to reply to each and every review; if you have an account I will respond through that, but if not, your response will come at the end of the chapter!)

_TMI too lazy to login: _I'm glad you're enjoying my story! I really only write one draft before I post it, but I re-read constantly and am always making changes to my chapter.

_MeanGreenRene:_ I will try and update quickly, but that doesn't always happen… haha

_[Anonymous]: _I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"_I'm a new soul, I came to this strange world whole… But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear, finding myself making every possible mistake." – Yael Naim 'New Soul'_

Once he escorted Prince Raoul to his room, James found himself, rather unexpectedly, with nothing else to do for the remainder of the day. This was a pleasant surprise, for James's days were always busy.

From childhood, James was aware that he was to be king one day. His father took it upon himself to be James's primary educator, teaching him the various responsibilities and protocols of a king. James did not remember any other way of life—he was always by his father's or a tutor's side, learning everything a good king needed to know. A young James saw his father work tirelessly and vowed that he would make him proud by showing that same dedication.

In many ways, James was extraordinarily like his father, which was not much of a surprise considering how much time they spent together. They had the same mannerisms: a strong stride, rigid posture, and a tendency to stand with their feet spread apart, their hands behind their back, left hand holding the right wrist. Their laughs were rich and boisterous, although they were both similar in the fact that those laughs were, unfortunately, infrequent. Their unyielding dedication to their people was what made them beloved figures to the people and each other.

Unlike his father, however, James still retained an innocence that was long lost to his father. He was able to look at problems with fresh eyes, preferring to solve complicated problems in pieces rather than as a whole. He was incredibly perceptive and understanding, always seeming to know what people meant as opposed to what they said. The villagers appreciated this particular quality and felt comfortable talking to James.

This characteristic also ran strong in Elia, the person James was trying to find at that present time. Although he frequently longed for free time, once he had it, he had no idea what to do with himself. Reading seemed distasteful, as he felt restless and oddly out of sync. Riding his beloved horse, Ferdinand, didn't sound appealing, and socializing with the lords and ladies from court was more trouble than it was worth. Thus, he went in search of Elia.

After much searching, he found her in the clearing near the forest. The clearing was on the southeast side of the castle and was frequented by the army and James himself. It bordered the forest, a smart strategic border, in James's perspective, because it kept children away from it and dissuaded enemies from using the forest to access the palace, lest they meet soldiers awaiting them on the other side.

The weaponry was locked away in a room in the military quarters, but some targets and dummies were left in the clearing, sticking out like scarecrows in the fields. Elia stood towards the outskirts of the clearing, a good fifty feet from her target as she steadied her bow and arrow.

Not many people knew of the Princess's fascination with archery—"many people" consisting of herself and James. He taught his younger sister one day when he was bored and she, always eager to learn, begged him to. Like his father, he spoiled Elia every chance he got. From that day forward, whenever he had spare time, he would teach Elia archery.

She was quite good, her aim steady and true, and she released the arrow confidently and sharply. It hit the center ring, but it was not quite a bull's eye.

He could see her twist of her lips, and the frown that marred her face. He rolled his eyes. What a perfectionist.

"The expression on your face isn't very becoming," he called out to her, a smile stretching across his face. "It reminds me too much of Cinthia."

This only made it worse—she scrunched up her nose distastefully. "Oh, goodness, now what a terrible sight that would be—three Cinthias!" She exclaimed, referencing Cinthia, Victoria, and herself.

James grimaced, then immediately grinned at her. "You're getting quite good, you know," he said. "Just because it's not dead center doesn't mean you wouldn't hit your enemy."

"Oh, I know," she replied, her eyes alight, "but of course I love the challenge, don't you see? It makes things more interesting."

James smiled at her affectionately. "I suppose I can understand that. Once you master that, then we'll move onto some _real _challenges."

Elia lifted an eyebrow. "Real challenges?" She parroted. "What do you mean by that?"

James winked, taking up a bow and arrow, stretching the arrow back. He released it, and it hit the bull's eye, dead center. "Well, once you can hit the bull's eye, we'll find out, eh?"

Elia scowled unbecomingly and wrenched the bow out of James's grasp. "I'll show you," she muttered, a fierce determination lighting her eyes as she squinted, lining up with her target. She stood motionless for a moment before finally releasing her arrow. It hit dead center, slicing James's arrow directly in two.

For a moment, Elia stared at her arrow, shock etching her face, the same shock found on James's face. Then, it melted away, and she turned to him, smug. "Well," she said, "now that I've accomplished _that_, what tricks are we going to do now?"

James, though still a bit stunned, grinned proudly at her. "I'll show you." He led her to the apple tree on the edge of the clearing. Bending down, he began to pick up some bruised apples. He handed them to her and they walked back to their target. Taking an apple, James placed it on top of the target. "Now the goal is to split this apple cleanly in two."

It took a few tries, but Elia eventually hit the apple, sending chunks flying. James, who got covered in the mess, immediately took his revenge, flinging the apple pieces back at her, ensuing a small food fight. James hadn't enjoyed himself so much in a long time and felt a small sense of loss at the thought that, if he hadn't been destined to be king, then he could have spent more time with his sister.

An hour later, they made their way back to the castle, sweaty, red-faced, and deliriously happy. James offered to go put their equipment away and Elia gratefully accepted. She waited by the side door of the castle for him. She was chatting with one of the guards, William, when a sudden chill went over her. She turned around and saw Victoria standing there. Elia dismissed William, knowing a confrontation was impending.

Unconsciously, Elia swallowed. "Hello, Sister," she said calmly. "May I help you?"

Victoria's lips curled. "You can help me," she replied silkily, her voice deceptively charming, "especially at dinner tonight. Stay away from Raoul."

Elia couldn't help the narrowing of her eyes. "I remember," she said. "We had this same conversation earlier this morning."

Victoria's eyes turned into slits. "Listen here," she hissed, "marrying Raoul is my way out of this country and I don't need you standing in my way. I saw the way you were looking at him today, as if you could catch his attention, but mark my words, Elia, if you try and compete against me, you will lose."

Elia's mind raced, trying to conjure up words to diffuse this situation. Confrontation was not Elia's strong suit. She let her sister and mother verbally trample her without fighting back because she knew that way it would be over quicker. James encouraged her to stand up to them, but what Elia didn't tell him was that any response would only make it worse. Much worse.

"If there were a competition, I have no doubt that you would be the loser, Sister, especially when Raoul discovers what kind of a person you really are," James coolly stated, emerging from the shadows of the castle, his face stony and his eyes blazing, saving Elia from responding. "And once Father finds out that you're threatening Elia, he will be displeased with you and perhaps even bar you from seeing Raoul."

It took all of Elia's willpower not to shrink away from the look in Victoria's eyes, the green glowing like a molten fire. Her lips tightened and her expression was livid. "You know that Mother won't stand for this. Mother always gets her way."

James snorted. "Not always. Father just feels sorry for her because she's not right in her mind." It was a wicked thing for him to say, since he knew that it always got Victoria reeling. But it didn't make the statement any less true.

"How dare you," Victoria seethed, "Mother is perfectly fine! Just because you and Elia are Father's little favorites doesn't mean that everything he says is true. You and Elia are just jealous because Mother never liked you the way she loves me."

James was silent for a moment, his facial expression unmoving. Elia knew that as a child James suffered, confused as to why his own mother seemed to dislike him so. But James did not react and instead said, looking straight into Victoria's eyes: "It sounds like," he said, his voice deceptively even, "I'm not the only one who's jealous."

Victoria's green eyes soured, turning bitter and ashy with long hidden truths. She said nothing, pivoting on her heel and stalking back to her room to prep for dinner.

Elia and James stood silently for a while, frozen in a spot as they registered all of their family hurts.

Finally Elia said, "We better go in. It's almost time for dinner." James nodded and the two disappeared into the castle before separating. Neither said another word.

0 0 0

Caralina was bored. She felt that she ought to be on the verge of exhaustion, especially after traveling for so long. Once Elia left the room, Caralina, forsaking propriety, ran to the bed and jumped, twisting mid-air and landing on her back. She sank into the lush goose-feather down but was unable to fall asleep. All she could think of was that this wasn't her bed, this wasn't her room, and she was days away from where she used to be.

The room was spacious, lovely, and cold. The soft colors of her room that had delighted her earlier now seemed bland and faded, and Caralina scolded herself for being so ungrateful. There was a fireplace facing her bed, and an elegant chair and desk set faced a window that had a gorgeous view of the rest of the kingdom.

Reluctantly, she lifted herself from the bed and went to the window. It would be best to try and learn the layout of the land as quickly as possible, and learn as much as she could about this country. She refused to let anyone down because of her own incompetence.

Perhaps, Caralina thought, she could start by learning about the castle. She felt a slight sense of trepidation as she slowly opened her door and peeked her head out; it was as if she was a child sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night again. Of course, she didn't know what would happen if someone caught her and if there would be possible consequences. It may be rude to wander the castle unattended, but she doubted it. Her curiosity got the better of her—a trait she heard she shared with her mother.

Smoothing out her dress, she wondered which way to go—left or right? After they escorted her to her room, Cinthia, Victoria, and Elia all went to the right, presumably towards their rooms. As much as Caralina liked Elia, she was loathe to spend time with Cinthia and Victoria. Although they had been nothing but cordial and hospitable to Caralina, there was something about them that unnerved her. She prayed that Raoul would not take to Victoria as he had hoped.

Thus, the only course of action was to the left. She made her way down the hallway, finally stopping at the forked grand staircase that she climbed not an hour before. Knowing that she dare not enter the mens' wing, Caralina went down the staircase and began making her way through the palace.

The architecture and marble used were absolutely splendid, glittering alluringly each time the sun hit it. She found herself in a long hallway, the marbled floor covered in a soft burgundy carpet and the walls lined with portraits. The majority were ancestors that Caralina cared little for, but at the very end of the hallway were two paintings of interest featuring the current royal family.

The first was what Caralina supposed was the king and queen's wedding day. Caralina thought the artist to be quite talented, capturing the likeness of the royals accurately, not bothering to conceal any flaws like many royal artists were encouraged to do. The portrait itself was remarkably natural, with the couple outside in what seemed to be a garden. Their positioning was candid: both were upright, with only the top half of their bodies painted. Caralina considered this to be very radical in terms of portraits; usually both subjects were conventionally positioned, with the bride in a chair while her husband stood stiffly at her side, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the only show of intimacy allowed. Caralina, however, loved all of the unconventional aspects of their portrait. The artist was masterful, capturing every detail exquisitely.

Although it was rare for subjects to be smiling, Caralina sensed that once, Charles was very happy. His deep blue eyes sparkled, and their gaze was not fixed straight ahead but rather uncharacteristically pointed towards his new bride.

Caralina was startled at Cinthia's appearance. The bride was radiant, her pink lips turned up into a slight, genuine smile, very unlike the one she gave Caralina earlier. She leaned into her husband trustingly, and she looked youthful and joyful. The artist captured the exquisite color of her mint eyes, and in them Caralina saw, paradoxically, a tinge of despair, a shadow that lurked beneath the surface. They made her uneasy, unsure as to whether they ruined the overall effect of the portrait.

Hastily moving on, Caralina's eyes slid over to the very last portrait. It was of the entire family, constructed a good decade before, when the prince and princesses were still children. She thought that the same artist painted this portrait as the last, but it was so utterly different that it was difficult to discern.

Charles and Cinthia stood in the back together, their posture stiff and uncomfortable, a stark contrast to their wedding portrait. They both stared ahead resolutely at the painter, and although their shoulders brushed each other in the painting, it was evident that even then they were too close for comfort. The artist captured the dullness in Charles, and the frigidity in Cinthia.

Caralna found the children to be much more interesting to look at. Arranged in front of their parents, they were arranged peculiarly and, Caralina thought, wholly aesthetically. James, who was the perfect mix of his parents, stood in the middle of the two. He looked to be around twelve or thirteen and tall, though he was not as tall as Charles yet. His face was round and young, and his blue eyes were solemn and serious, a look that Caralina recognized from earlier that afternoon. She fleetingly wished that he was smiling; his face transformed and became almost irresistibly handsome when he did. Dashing that train of thought, Caralina moved onto Victoria. Even though she looked only to be around eleven years old, her posture was impeccable, her already manicured eyebrows perfectly curved and slightly raised in an expression reminiscent to her mother's. Her chin was tilted proudly upward, and her appearance was impeccable, not a single hair out of place. _Did these children ever play? _Caralina wondered. Even Elia looked immaculate, although tiny. Caralina thought it adorable how her little feet dangled off of the chair, although her eyes had a wide, scared look to them that Caralina thought unnatural for a girl so young. It was disturbing and she felt herself shiver. What kind of family was this? What secrets were they hiding?

_A picture was worth a thousand words_. Caralina thought absently. But what words were they?

She pivoted on her heel quickly and walked away, not wanting to know the answer to that question. Not yet.

She wandered around a little while longer before realizing with a start that she was completely and utterly lost. She found herself in another hallway where it was absolutely silent. There was no one to be found and although the silence was comfortable, even soothing, Caralina still felt that she had perhaps gone too far with her adventure. Still, she pushed on, inexplicably drawn to two wide, ornate doors at the very end of the hallway. She knew she should turn around but found herself unable to, staring at the golden doors that didn't sparkle like the granite, but seemed to glow.

Carved ornately into the door were suns and moons that seemed out of place in the elegant and refined castle. They were gorgeous nonetheless, and unthinkingly, Caralina grasped the curved handles and pulled the doors open.

It was a ballroom, gorgeous and empty. Like the doors, the walls and ceiling glittered with gold accents. It was, Caralina thought, a domed ballroom, something rare and special. The ceiling was covered in delicate frescoes with the wings of the angels sparkling with gold. The Grecian style pillars held ornate candle holders and Caralina longed to see the ballroom in its full glory, with candles flicking alluringly on the walls. The marble floor was smooth and polished and it was evident that although it was immaculately kept, the majestic room wasn't used often.

She knew it was ridiculous, but unlike her parents, Caralina preferred ballrooms to libraries. The energy and good cheer associated with balls were intoxicating to Caralina and she knew others thought her frivolous and flighty, but she adored balls and dancing. People would admit grudgingly that she was the best dancer, graceful and confident and ever patient with her partners. It was just a shame that they thought that dancing was all she was good for.

A throat cleared itself gently. Caralina whirled around and found the Crown Prince standing in the doorway. His facial expression displayed no judgment, only slight curiosity at her presence. His hair looked damp and curling against the nape of his neck, and he looked clean and freshly washed. He was the last person Caralina expected to see.

"Prince James!" squeaked Caralina, immediately dropping into a curtsey. "I—I—"

"Princess Caralina," he interrupted, giving her a deep bow. "May I inquire as to what brings you to the ballroom?"

"Well, you see, I just wanted to… I went looking for—and then I got lost," she stuttered, feeling foolish and furious at herself. She should have known better. What was she thinking, roaming around the castle without an escort?

Seeing the alarmed look on her face, James understood and said gently, "It's quite all right. I understand that you want to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings. Elia mentioned to me earlier that you did not know where the dining room was? I suppose we overlooked the logic in showing you around before escorting you to your rooms. I apologize."

Caralina blinked, unable to comprehend how the situation came to be that _he _was apologizing to _her. _"Oh, no, no, no," she rushed to assure him. "It's just—I couldn't sleep and the castle was so gorgeous I just wanted to explore a bit, I'm so terribly sorry, I should have just waited for Elia to come fetch me from my room for dinner. Or asked for a tour later. Or—or something," she concluded lamely, feeling more foolish than ever. Everything was ruined now. His opinion of her as a stupid twit was solidified, she was sure of it.

On the contrary, James found her rambling and stuttering rather refreshing, a pleasant change from the rehearsed pleasantries of other ladies at court. He felt sorry for her uncomfortable position and, as it was in his nature, wished for her to feel more at ease. Gently, as though she were a skittish child, James held out the crook of his elbow. "If you would be so inclined, it is almost time for dinner. I shall escort you, if you do not object?"

Caralina hesitated, although she slid her hand to rest snugly in the inside of his arm. "But what about Elia? She is expecting me in my room." She bit her bottom lip worriedly.

James smiled slightly at the gesture. "She will figure it out soon enough," he said smoothly. "I shall be sure to have a servant tell her. She may escort Raoul, whom I forgot also does not know the location of the dining room." Once they reached the doorway of the ballroom James stopped and gently closed the doors.

"It's—a splendid room," Caralina finally said.

James turned. "It is, isn't it?" he said. "It's a shame it's not used much. There will be a ball come the day before next, however, to commemorate yours and the Prince's arrival, so you shall be able to dance to your heart's content."

Caralina felt her cheeks burn. So he too believed all she was good for was dancing?

James, seeing that he was misinterpreted, panicked slightly, hastening to say, "I mean—your skills as a dancer are known throughout the continent—"

"I'm sure they are," she smiled, a little sadly.

"No, I just—" James paused as he realized that he was flustered. This hadn't happened to him in _years. _A king never lost his composure. "What I mean to say is that—I hear you're a lovely dancer and I—I envy that for I am quite terrible at it," he too was flushed when he finished.

Unknowingly, James did just the thing to put Caralina at ease—display an awkwardness and vulnerability that was relatable, that made her feel not so terrible about herself. She smiled widely, truly, and James blinked, confused and enchanted.

"I shall have to teach you then," she declared, tucking her hand back into his arm.

James relaxed, still a little unsure as to what just happened, but decided not to question it. It had been a very odd day thus far and he learned early on that the best thing to do was to go along with it. Glancing at the girl beside him, he had a feeling that with her in his life, he would be having days like this more often.

His father had no idea what he was getting himself into when he invited the royal family to come stay. Their presence was already making his family more dysfunctional than usual.

James found himself not caring.

0 0 0

Elia had barely managed to finish bathing and dressing before she heard a knock on her door. Frantically, she looked at the grandfather clock. It was only twenty to five. Was that Caralina? Did she even know where her room was?

Much to her relief, it was only a servant. He bowed lowly. "A message from your brother, Crown Prince James. He found Crown Princess Caralina navigating the castle on her own and is accompanying her to dinner. If you could please show Crown Prince Raoul to the dining room it would be most appreciated."

"Thank you, William," Elia said, feeling dread line the pit of her stomach. What would Victoria say?

William bowed and left, leaving Elia to her dilemma. There was not much she could do. It would be terribly rude not to fetch Raoul, who had no clue as to where the dining quarters were. On the other hand, she would risk the wrath of her mother and sister.

The clock struck a quarter to five. Glancing at herself in the mirror, making sure her dark waves were secured in a braided twist and that her deep plum dress laid correctly, Elia took a deep breath and exited the room.

Within moments she was at Raoul's door. Taking a deep breath, she quickly rapped on the door. She could not go back now.

The door swung open. Raoul looked completely awake and in place. His hair looked freshly washed and combed, his attire impeccable, no wrinkles to be seen. Elia knew that if it were her who had travelled so long and far, she would have barely been conscious for dinner.

He was, however, rather startled to see her there. Elia didn't blame him. To his credit, he caught himself and bowed. "Princess Eliana," he said, his voice tinged husky with sleep and lack of use. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Prince Raoul," Elia curtseyed. Straightening she said, "My brother and I belatedly realized that no one instructed you on where the dining room was, so I have come to escort you to dinner."

Raoul relaxed, content in the answer. "Of course. I—I didn't even realize it myself, actually."

"It is our own fault," Elia said gently. "Shall we depart? If you are ready?"

"I am," Raoul said, stepping outside of his chambers and closing the door behind him. "I thank you kindly for coming to retrieve me. I am very grateful."

"It is not a problem," Elia replied as he offered her his arm. She took it and the two made their way to the dining room, Raoul content to walk at her own leisurely pace.

"How is your room?" Elia inquired, after realizing that Raoul would not speak first.

"Quite well, thank you," Raoul said. Pausing, he said with a slight smile, "Although I confess the only part of the room I have examined closely is my bed."

Elia felt herself smile, surprised at his humor. "I do not blame you," she confided. "I am surprised that you look so put together. If it were I, I would be look quite worse for wear."

"Nonsense," Raoul said gallantly, "I am sure you would look marvelous."

Elia felt her cheeks tinge with pink, although she knew logically he was only being polite. "I thank you," she merely said. "That is very kind."

Raoul felt awkward as he was quite unused to complimenting women, but found himself saying, "I am sure it is true as well."

The two fell into silence for a moment, but it was not uncomfortable, and Raoul found himself surprised at how he enjoyed her company. She did not push or pry for conversation like many young ladies at home did, and she was content to walk in silence. Odder still, Raoul felt like pursuing conversation with her. This simply did not happen. Ever.

"I realized," he said abruptly, "that my sister also does not know the dining room's location. Shall we not fetch her?"

"I received a message from my brother before I came to your quarters," Elia said. "He crossed paths with Caralina somewhere in the castle and is escorting her to dinner."

Raoul shook his head. What kind of trouble was Caralina getting herself into now?

Elia saw his expression darken slightly. "Oh, it is no trouble at all," she smiled. "I would want to familiarize myself with my new surroundings as well if I were her. And James enjoys giving tours. He knows more of the palace's history than I."

"I can only imagine where he found her," Raoul found himself replying. "I love my sister but she is full of mischief."

Elia smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "Then she will fit in wonderfully here," she assured him, thinking of her and James's adventures.

Raoul, surprised at her easy acceptance, found himself smiling as well. "Somehow, I cannot imagine you or your siblings getting into much trouble."

He was surprised to hear a laugh erupt from the small girl. It was fleeting, but Raoul found the lack of restraint charming. Suddenly, the shy, timid girl from earlier transformed, right in front of his eyes, into a confident, personable young woman. "In time, I am sure that once you get to know us better, at least James and I, such a thing shall be quite easy to envision."

Raoul grinned easily, feeling any unease or formality slipping away in the face of her easy conversation. "And Princess Victoria? Was she a part of your adventures?"

Elia's smile faded slightly, but she kept her voice light as she said, "Oh, no. Victoria was always quite proper and pristine. She preferred more acceptable, ladylike pastimes." Not wanting to discuss her sister anymore, she continued on, "I, on the other hand, well. I suppose I should not be admitting this, for it is rather shameful, but I myself enjoyed playing with my brother and having him teach me, shall we say, more socially unacceptable skills. At least for a young lady."

Incredibly intrigued, Raoul raised an eyebrow. "And pray tell, my lady, what were these skills?"

Elia smiled again, thinking of her afternoon. "Oh, no! I have already revealed too much, you see. I shall not say anymore."

Without even thinking, Raoul jutted his lower lip out slightly. "Now that is unfair. You have baited me with your hints and now you will not even elaborate."

This garnered another laugh, which Raoul belatedly realized, was the reaction he had been _hoping _for. Dear Lord, was this what _flirting _was?

They had reached the dining room now, so all Elia said was, "All right, you have a point. I shall disclose all. However, that shall have to wait for another time."

Raoul raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Promise?"

Elia grinned, her eyes alight. Raoul dazedly wondered why it was having such an effect on him. "_Promise._"

The two stepped into the dining room, unaware of the whole of the king's court looking at them. The two took the remaining empty seats at the king's table. Once Elia was seated and comfortable, she looked up. Victoria sat directly across from her and her eyes were blazing, promising murder.

Elia's smile vanished instantly. She suddenly remembered why escorting Raoul was a terrible idea.

Her heart sank. _What a dinner this will be_, she thought to herself morosely as the first course was served. Once again her sister ruined her day. And not even Rose's delicious cooking could compensate for the trouble she knew she would be in later.

0 0 0

**Author's Note: **I _finally _updated! Writing this chapter was exceedingly difficult and I'm glad that I finally found time to finish it up. I literally finished writing it moments ago, so please excuse the errors, and if you would like, feel free to point them out. I hope I've given you all enough awkwardly cute moments for a while. I extended the chapter by an extra 2,000 words as a way of saying I'm sorry.

Also to note: due to the excellent suggestion of **laurashrub** I changed some parts of the previous chapter, mostly concerning Cinthia and Victoria's behavior around the twins. It's subtle, but I think it's more realistic than previously. Thanks for the help!

Thank you everyone for sticking by this story despite be not updating for nearly four months! I appreciate your patience and support

M. Elena

22 March 2011

_Edited: 15 June 2011_

**Review Responses:**(I will try to reply to each and every review; if you have an account I will respond through that, but if not, your response will come at the end of the chapter!)

_Stargazer: _I'm gald you're enjoying this story! I'm updating as quickly as I can while still ensuring the quality of my chapters! Thank you for being patient : )

_MeanGreenRene:_ I'm so sorry I didn't deliver a Christmas chapter! I began this chapter but time got away from me. It is Spring Break for me though, so here's a Spring Break present? Early Easter present perhaps? Haha

_immame: _Thank you so much! I appreciate your support : )

_babewithbrains: _Thank you! It's difficult finding fitting songs, but I enjoy the hunt.

_Miss Anonymous: _I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far! I will definitely be writing more of the next chapter this week!


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"_I'm alone on my throne. All these riches. I came this way, all this way, just to say: this time won't you save me? Baby, I can feel myself giving up." – Nicki Minaj 'Save Me'_

For Elia, dinner was torturous in every way possible. Although everybody around her was enjoying themselves, talking and laughing freely, Elia's dread at her sister's revenge replaced any hunger in her stomach.

She did not have to wait long. Because Victoria was seated across from Elia, it was easy for her to capture one of Elia's calves between her own, draping and entangling Elia with her skirts, and slowly pierce the soft flesh above her ankle with the heel of her shoe.

Elia was trapped. Victoria maneuvered it so that Elia could not escape without making a huge struggle and Victoria knew that Elia would make no such scene, especially not in front of guests.

Victoria smirked as she felt Elia's skin break way. Elia clenched her jaw, picking up her goblet and gritting her teeth on the edge, praying that the glass wouldn't give away.

Everyone else remained occupied. James and Charles were engaging Caralina in a spirited conversation about riding, while Cinthia was murmuring something in low, smooth tones to Raoul, who looked vaguely uncomfortable with her attentions.

Raoul caught Elia's eye, immediately disturbed by the fear and pain in her eyes. He frowned deeply, moving to say something, but Elia quickly looked away as Victoria pressed harder, seeing the exchange.

Unfortunately, Raoul did not see the cause of Elia's intense discomfort, though he was focusing his attention on her until Cinthia laid a hand on his arm, startling him. "Is something the matter?"

She really was extremely beautiful, Raoul reflected as he turned his attention back to Cinthia. There was something ethereal about her, something unreal. She had been monopolizing his time for the past hour, engaging in small talk and, not so subtly, slipping in references about Victoria. Raoul indulged her, finding that her motherly pride in Victoria put him at ease. Her eyes lit up and she seemed more approachable and less like the cold woman he met earlier. It was an intriguing transformation.

But there was something about Elia that alarmed him, something that kept causing him to glance over at her when no one else did. Her cheeks began to flush and he swore he could see beads of perspiration line her brow. He glanced discreetly around the table as Cinthia continued to talk to him. How had no one else noticed this?

Liberal amounts of wine and ale were being consumed throughout the room, and it was evident that the royal family was not immune to this. Raoul was surprised by the liveliness of the Inglish court, but took it in stride. Charles looked jovial, and he and James took great delight in amusing Caralina, who kept making eyes at James. Raoul raised an eyebrow and made a note to ask her about that later.

As he was occupying Cinthia, he turned his attention to Victoria. She looked cool and collected, making pleasant small talk with a courtier next to her. Her expression was bored but pleasant, and every once and a while she would smile cryptically at some private joke.

It never occurred to him that she was the source of Elia's distress.

Victoria had not yet released her hold on Elia's ankle, but she did not gouge her heel any further. She left it there, sitting in Elia's fresh. Elia knew that once she stood up, walking would be difficult, and it would be for a while after. She wasn't sure how much she was bleeding, but she knew that it would need to be bandaged immediately upon returning to her rooms. Unfortunately, that didn't seem like it would happen anytime soon. She could feel tears collecting at the corners of her eyes, and prayed desperately for the dinner to finish soon.

In addition to her leg pain, Elia knew that her head would be pounding the next morning. Trying to forget about the throbbing in her calf, she had consumed an unusual amount of wine. Normally she would nurse a single goblet throughout the whole meal, but she had finished at least three times that amount, and she hated how out of control she felt. Flushed, woozy, and in pain, she wanted to burst into tears and break down completely.

She raised her head and locked eyes with Raoul. _Help me. _

He saw the glistening of her eyes and did not understand the cause of her pain, but felt that since everyone else was unaware of the situation, he was the only one who could help.

Hoping he could pull this off, wishing he was more like the confident, quick-thinking Caralina, he hastily finished his half-hearted conversation with Cinthia and stood. "This evening has been delightful," he declared with a conviction he did not feel. "I thank all of you for welcoming my sister and I into your home with open arms. Unfortunately, I find myself fatigued from the travelling and sleepy. Your company was invigorating and the food absolutely perfect. If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave now."

Charles stood to see him off, openly shaking his hand with great delight. Charles felt he should have made a speech of some sort, but his brain was too foggy to come up with anything coherent. James stood as well, giving a slightly off-center bow, his smile at his own drunkenness sheepish. The courtiers clapped and hollered in delight. Elia felt faint.

Raoul cleared his throat and said, in a lower voice addressed only to the royal family, "If anyone else needs assistance back to their chambers, please do not hesitate to ask as I have retained most of my wits," he said this with a smile and no judgment, his eyes flickering to Elia.

Elia bit her lip, debating. Should she excuse herself and go with Raoul and face more of her sister's wrath later, or stay and potentially pass out in pain?

Luckily for her, the decision was taken out of her hands. Victoria, wanting to be alone with Raoul, released Elia's ankle in a smooth motion—it was all Elia could do not to howl in pain- and slowly rose. "If you would be so kind, I will take you up on your offer," she said smoothly, without a hint of inebriation in her tone. "I fear that I drank more wine than I should have."

Elia didn't know whether to roll her eyes or sigh in relief. Glancing around the table, she found that Caralina herself did the former, a look of mild disgust in her face.

Cinthia, on the other hand, looked delighted and James and Charles did not notice nor care. Raoul and Victoria took their leave, Victoria almost pulling Raoul out of the room. Elia grimaced as she felt blood trickle down her leg and pool at the bottom of her shoe. Without Victoria's heel putting pressure on her wound, it now bled freely.

She had to get out of there. She needed warm water, bandages, and a bed. Waiting a few moments, Elia began to rise from her seat.

It was more difficult than she had anticipated. Trying to keep all of her weight on her sturdy left foot, she slowly bent her crippled right leg from the straightened position it had kept throughout the whole night. Even doing that hurt; the nerves in her leg fizzled from being inactive for so long, leaving her semi-paralyzed. She rose slowly, gritting her teeth as her left leg trembled from having to support so much. Finally she was standing fully upright. She murmured polite farewells to everyone and then began to walk, trying not to show she was limping.

Suddenly grateful that her long skirts hid the majority of her leg movements, Elia attempted to almost glide out of the room, taking long strides with her left foot to compensate for the nearly non-existent ones of her right foot.

Once she was finally out of the room, Elia finally let her façade break down. Her face crumpled into pain as she squeezed her eyes shut, letting exasperated tears slide down her cheeks. She swallowed a sob as she attempted to limp along, wondering how in the world she was going to make it up the stairs, especially without getting blood on it. She thought perhaps she should stop and create a makeshift bandage using her petticoats, but decided against it: if she stopped now, she did not know if she could start again.

Agonizing minutes went by as she made her way to the staircase. Her head throbbed as greatly as her leg did, and the exertion caused her to perspire, the beads lining her forehead and trailing down her back. She could only imagine if she was leaving trails of blood on the floor as well. She turned back once and saw nothing, failing to realize that the train of her dress was spotted with dark red, mopping up the evidence behind her.

Finally, she made it to the base of the stairs. Looking up miserably, she realized that there was no way she could make it up. There were too many stairs and her left leg was cramping and aching. She slid down the end banister slowly, feeling the tears flow down her cheeks as she choked out a mournful cry. Bending her left knee and sliding her right leg out straight, Elia sat, sobbing and waiting for someone to find her there.

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The moment Victoria had Raoul of the dining room, Raoul felt distinctly uneasy. This was odd to him since there was no reason for his discomfort. Victoria was a perfect companion, keeping the conversation flowing smoothly as she walked gracefully at his side. She took interest in what he said, smiling beguilingly at him every so often in a very pretty, coquettish way. Her manners were charming and she was wonderful to look at.

But there was something that worried him. He could not forget Elia's pained image all throughout dinner. It was difficult for him to focus on anything else, even someone as beautiful and perfect as Victoria. He contemplated going back to the dining room to see if Elia was all right, but was unsure of how to go about it.

Victoria guided him gently to the right side of the staircase so that he would properly escort her to her room. Raoul reflected dimly that there should probably be some sort of chaperone with them, but perhaps Charles and Cinthia were allowing this as an act of good faith? It was difficult to tell. Raoul did not have the right mind for political intrigue. His father always said that Raoul was a good judge of character, but he did not know. More often than not, he questioned his judgment rather than embrace it.

"Good night, Crown Prince," Victoria murmured lowly, sweeping him a delicate curtsey, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you for escorting me to my room."

"Good night, Princess," Raoul responded, bowing with flushed cheeks. "It is no trouble at all."

"I shall see you tomorrow, I trust?" She queried over her shoulder as she went to open her door.

"Certainly," Raoul responded, surprised by her question. "When would you wish it?"

"I shall come find you," Victoria answered smoothly, giving him a secretive little smile.

Raoul frowned uncertainly. Although he was used to receiving flirty phrases and coquettish smiles from the court ladies at home, this was another matter entirely. "All right," he said slowly. "I look forward to it."

"Wonderful," Victoria said. "Good night."

"Good night." He said.

She closed the door behind her. Raoul turned to go straight back to his rooms, but once he reached where the staircases merged into one, he stiffened. Was that…? Was someone crying?

For a moment, he had the absurd thought that perhaps the castle was haunted, and some sort of wailing widow inhabited the beautifully eerie palace. But the choked sobs and whimpering cries were too vivid, echoing throughout the great, empty hall.

Following the sound, he made his way briskly down the stairs. Looking to the left, he saw, curled up, was Elia, crying softly, albeit hysterically.

"Princess!" He exclaimed softly, bending down to her level. "What happened?"

Elia stiffened, hearing Raoul's voice. She fought to regain her composure, choking back the never-ending sobs rising up. "I-I-" she gasped. "I beg your pardon. Did I wake you?"

Raoul shook his head vehemently, "No, no, of course not! I was not even at my rooms yet. Pray tell, what is ailing you so?"

A mental battle ensued within Elia. What should she tell him? The truth was unacceptable. "I-I drank too much wine," she stammered, though it was true. "More than I usually do. In order to—get rid of my ache. My headache. And now I just feel—so dizzy. And nauseous. And awful. I'm so sorry I disturbed you. Please don't mind me. I'll just—" Here she attempted to stand but, forgetting her ankle in her lies, immediately collapsed. "Ouch!"

Incredibly alarmed, Raoul wrapped a steady arm around her shoulders as she gritted her teeth and tried not to let him know how hurt she was. "What is it?" He demanded.

"My leg—fell asleep from sitting so long," she blurted quickly, surprised at how easily the lies were coming. Her tongue must have loosened from all of the alcohol.

Raoul came to a split decision. Propriety be damned, he quickly scooped Elia up, bridal style, and began to walk up the stairs.

Despite her ankle being jostled by his movements, Elia felt immensely better, and any fear of Victoria catching them was gone, washed away by feelings of safety

and comfort. Feeling bold, she looped her arms around his neck, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She inhaled impulsively and decided that she quite liked how he smelled—fresh, like the outdoors and spring grass. She exhaled audibly, warm breath on his neck, causing Raoul to look down at her. He felt himself involuntarily smile, although he was still worried about her countenance. He had a feeling the princess wasn't telling him the entire truth about what left her in hysterics. Although he knew of those who cried when intoxicated, there was so much pain in her cries… what was going on?

Regardless, tonight was not the time to ask. Elia was in no condition to be subjected to more trauma, least of all by him. Nevertheless, he still had to ask one thing. "Princess," he whispered. "Pray tell, where are your chambers?"

Elia lifted her head, trying to take in her surroundings. It was difficult; the hallway was dark and in her intoxicated state, her vision was spinning. However, she could still discern the door leading into her chambers. She hoped. "It's that one," she murmured, pointing to a door a few feet ahead of them.

Once they got to the doorway, Raoul hesitated. Should he leave her here or deposit her on her bed? Their behavior was already terribly improper, but was that justification to make it even worse?

Luckily, Elia made the decision for him, detangling her skirts from Raoul's arms and slowly sliding her body into an upright position.

Raoul gulped audibly as she did this.

Elia, unaware of Raoul's discomfort, smiled brightly at him, her arms still on his shoulders. "Thank you, Crown Prince," she said. "Without your help I fear I would've spent the night at the bottom of the staircase."

Raoul smiled back. He was glad to see her spirits were better. "Think nothing of it, Princess," he said gallantly. "As long as you are safe, then I am glad."

What a word to use, thought Elia, dropping her arms to her side. Safe? Since when had she ever been truly safe in her own home? Nevertheless, tonight, even for a fleeting moment, she did feel safe.

Raoul bowed. "I shall not keep you any longer," he said. "Get some sleep, Princess."

"Thank you," Elia decided to incline her head; curtseying at that point was near impossible. "Once again, thank you for your kindness and chivalry."

Raoul flushed in the darkness but only said, "Good night, Princess."

Elia made a split decision. Propriety and Victoria's wrath be damned. "Call me Elia," she whispered into the night.

"Elia," Raoul repeated. "Well, Elia, I insist you call me Raoul then."

"I will," she said. "Good night… Raoul."

He bowed once more and melted into the shadows. Elia watched him go as best she could, and then turned around and entered her room.

Luckily for her, the maids left a basin filled with water in case she wanted to wash up before she went to bed. Elia lifted her skirts, and, wrenching her shoe off with a cry, stuck her pitiful foot into the water. Hissing, she knew it was for the best. Gathering some soap, she began to wash the wound, praying it would not become infected. Gingerly, she wobbled over to her dresser, where she always kept wrappings of old cloth and healing herbs. It was always best to be prepared. Placing herbs directly onto her wound, Elia wrapped it up tightly. Too tired to change into a proper nightgown, Elia merely took off her dress, corset, and petticoats, falling into bed in her undergarments. Mercifully, she was asleep in moments.

For his part, Raoul was equally as exhausted. He undressed slowly, lethargically, and fell upon his bed. His foggy mind conjured up images of Elia, ones of laughter and sweet smiles intermingling with the utter agony he found her in. His last thought, however, was, _I think I smell blood_, unaware that the discarded evening clothes in the corner were indeed stained with blood. Elia's blood.

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**Author's Note: **I realize that this chapter is a little short, more like an interlude, but when I kept writing there was no good place to cut the chapter off, so I just cut it off here. Good news is that I already have the next chapter started!

Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story. My overall plan is to have it finished by the end of summer, but we'll see. I was looking over at my original outline for the story and man, things have already changed so much! This story is going in a totally different direction than planned. This chapter, for instance, wasn't in the original outline at all, and neither was Caralina, or rather, she only appeared at the very beginning and very end of the story. Oh well, c'est la vie!

M. Elena

16 June 2011

**Review Responses** I will try to reply to each and every review; if you have an account I will respond through that, but if not, your response will come at the end of the chapter!)

_snowvet: _Yay! What a nice compliment. And I'm glad you're like the awkwardness between the royals. It's always fun to write.

_daring2dream: _I'm glad that you're enjoying everything so far! You seem like a very thorough reader and I'm glad that everything meets your approval! : )


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"_Please swallow your pride if I have things you need to borrow… for no one can fill those of your needs that you won't let show." Bil Withers 'Lean on Me'_

It was very late the next morning when Elia finally woke up, and when she did she immediately wished that she hadn't. Her head felt heavy and fuzzy, and her ankle throbbed. Perhaps she should just tell everyone she was sick? That way, she could remain in bed for the remainder of the day. Immediately, however, Elia dismissed the thought. No, no, that wouldn't do. Today was the day of the ball, and while she knew that Rose and the other servants would see to all of the preparations, Elia enjoyed helping out. Besides, today was Friday and they were waiting for her.

She swung her legs over the bed and sat there for a few moments, mentally preparing herself for the ensuing pain her ankle would experience once she left the bed. True to prediction, she stood up and steadied herself for a moment, wincing as she tried putting pressure on her mangled ankle. Taking a deep breath, Elia stepped forward… and promptly fell over.

For a while Elia merely laid there, her cheek pressed to the cool floor. In a way, it was tempting just to fall back asleep right there and then and just escape from what was going on around her. Raoul and Caralina would be here for six months—could she endure pain like this for a half a year? Or would she instead have to be constantly on guard in order to ensure that she would never be alone with, let alone talk with, Raoul? Thinking back to his kindness from the night before, Elia knew that such a task would be near impossible. She may be able to avoid him, but it would be so unforgivably rude, and she somehow knew, instinctively, that Raoul would seek her out eventually.

Those thoughts would have to wait, she thought, pushing them to the back of her mind. She would figure out everything in time—right now, however, she needed to get dressed somehow. The servants were not expected in the mornings after festivities because their masters usually stayed in bed all day, recovering. Elia did not expect her maid until later in the afternoon to help prepare her for the ball. Until then, however, she would have to dress herself. Limping to her armoire, Elia pulled out an older, simple gown that was a soft pink color. It took some careful maneuvering on her part, but eventually Elia found herself fully dressed and ready to go.

First, however, she needed to go to the kitchens and satisfy her ravenous stomach. Last night, it was largely filled with wine, not food, and she thus needed to remedy that. Besides, she never ate lunch with her family on Fridays. Her father and brother did not like it, but they did not interfere, and her mother and sister did not care about her absence, predictably.

When she entered the kitchen, Elia found chaos. Servants were running around, calling orders and responses, and every inch of counter and table space was being used. Scents of sweets and meats and fruits and cheeses filled the air. Blinking, she fleetingly thought that perhaps this was not the best day to dine alone. Despite all of that, a servant, noticing her presence, gave her a large basket filled with food. Rosie's doing. Elia fleetingly wondered how she was to carry all of this with her ankle still hurting, but gratefully took the basket anyway. "Please tell Rose 'thank you'," Elia told the servant. "And thank you as well, for giving it to me." The servant in question was a young lad, no more than twelve years old, and he flushed at her praise.

"Of course, Your Highness," he murmured. Elia sent him another smile and was on her way.

Normally Elia enjoyed her walk down to the bustling village, preferring to blend in with the townsfolk and not make a huge scene. It was easier for her to do because she was smaller and usually hid behind a large, sensible, wool cloak, but for her father and brother, they were easily distinguishable and the people adored them. As for her mother and sister, they never went into general public but Elia imagined that if they did, they would be easily recognizable due to their beauty.

However, today was not a normal day and Elia knew that while walking down the hill would be all right, she would eventually have to walk back up. And she knew that there would be no Prince Raoul to help her today.

The easiest thing to do would be to take a carriage, but Elia hated the pretentiousness of them, and she felt uncomfortable showcasing her status on such casual trips.

Heading to the stables, Elia decided that taking a horse was her best bet. She did not care for the idea, but she felt it would be best. Now. If only she could figure out how she could get onto the horse and off of it—with her picnic basket—without help.

She would think of something, but standing around was just wasting precious time. Because of the ball she would not be able to stay as long and she didn't want to disappoint them. The stable hands brought Elia her mare, Diana, to her, saddled and ready to go.

"Do you need any help, Your Highness?" came a voice next to her. Turning, Elia saw Philip, a member of her father's guard, and, on Friday's, her own personal guard.

Charles and James were loath to let Elia travel on her own, even to the village, and agreed to her visits on the condition that Philip go with her. Elia accepted on the grounds that she liked Philip; he was discreet and kind and did not mind any of her eccentricities. They were around the same age and, as his mother was a kitchen servant, they, along with James, played together as children. At times, Elia found it hard to believe that her scrawny childhood friend with the golden curls grew up to be a respected and talented palace guard, despite his "pretty-boy" angelic good looks and slim physique. Nonetheless, Elia trusted Philip with her life and did not mind him coming with her. He stayed far enough in the background so as not to make her feel uncomfortable, but close enough that she was always aware of where he was.

"That would be lovely," Elia said gratefully. "If you could take the basket and help me up, that would be splendid."

Philip could not help but roll his eyes. "If you rode like other ladies did, you know, I doubt you would be having these problems."

"Oh, hush you," Elia snipped back good-naturedly. "We both know that that is a lie. Besides, sitting side-saddle is dreadfully uncomfortable, not to mention much more difficult than riding normally. Your balance is totally off-kilter the entire time!"

Both of her parents, actually, despaired that Elia refused to ride side-saddled. James, of course, found it greatly amusing, since he was the one to teach her how to ride. Elia rode like a man, insisting that her virtue was still in tact; her skirts were long enough that no one could see anything improper.

Philip gave her a look. He was used to these outbursts. "Let's just get you on the horse." Elia put the basket on the ground and braced herself. In order to swing herself up, she would need to put her right foot on the rung on the saddle, which, for a brief moment, would cause all of her weight to be on her left foot. She prayed desperately that her knees wouldn't buckle from the pain.

"Philip," she called sweetly. "Come assist me please?" If he was there to steady her, then she should be fine.

Dutifully, Philip came. Elia, quickly, put her right food in the rung, unable to hide a grimace as she did so. Philip frowned, but quickly he laced his hands and helped her swing her left food over the mare. Once she was secure, he handed her the basket, which she set next to the horn of the saddle.

"Are you going to ride or walk, Philip?" Elia wanted to know.

Philip thought. "I think it would be best if I walked," he said finally. "Less conspicuous that way."

Elia wanted to roll her eyes at his protectiveness, but held herself back. "If you insist," she said cheerfully. "I can't always promise I won't gallop off, however."

Philip gave her a look as they passed the castle walls. "I don't expect anything less," he said grimly. "Just try your best, hmm, Your Highness?"

"We shall see," she called merrily, feeling significantly better now that she was physically away from the castle.

Riding into the market, she warmly greeted the street vendors and buyers by name, and in turn they waved back. It was rare for people to bow to her; they all understood, after many protests, that Elia detested such protocol. Some still insisted on bowing, although most people, still anxious to show their respect and loyalty, bowed their heads with a slight dip to their knees whenever she passed.

Elia usually spent more time talking with everyone, listening to their problems and concerns and the like, but today, due to the ball, her visit would be much shorter, and there was one stop that she could not miss. Nevertheless, she made her way through the market slowly, so Philip could walk with her and to make sure the other villagers did not feel as though she was ignoring them today.

"Headed directly to the house, Your Highness?" murmured Philip at her side.

"Yes," replied Elia. "I don't believe I shall stay very long, unfortunately. I am sorry, Philip."

Another reason why Elia specifically liked Philip as her accompanying guard was because his sister lived next door to the place she visited and Elia permitted him to visit his sister when she came to the village. Philip, who only saw his sister on these trips, cherished them. He lived in the castle and although his duty shifts were not completely time-consuming, Philip did not have much time to spend with family.

"It's quite all right, Princess," Philip said, a bright smile on his face. "It is generous that I have any time at all to spend with them, so I am grateful for whatever I can get."

Elia smiled back, appreciative of Philip's optimistic nature. She wished that she could have some of that as well.

They could see their destination in the distance. It was a humble house, two stories and plainly built. It was obviously old, but it was clear that someone was desperately trying to keep the house as respectable as possible. The yard was tidy and there were scores of flowers in the yard, reminding Elia of gardening adventures from the previous spring.

Philip helped Elia off of the horse. As soon as she was securely on the ground, she could not hold back another grimace. She completely forgot about her ankle. Philip saw and raised an eyebrow. "All right there, Princess?"

Elia stiffened slightly, cursing her inability to mask her discomfort. "Quite all right, Philip," she said, trying to keep her voice as cheery as possible. "Just haven't ridden in a bit. My limbs are a bit sore." It was a weak excuse, but luckily, a believable one.

As she limped to the house, she failed to notice that Philip did not believe her excuse for a moment. Nonetheless, he held his tongue, deciding to go next door and visit his family. He would return in an hour and perhaps then he could wrestle the truth out of her.

Elia, finally at the doorstep, rapt on the door three times in quick succession. She heard squeals of laughter from the inside, and when the door was opened, seven pairs of bright eyes stared back at her.

"Elia, Elia!" The children squealed enthusiastically at the sight of her.

"Hello, my dears!" Laughed Elia as they surrounded her with squeals and hugs. "How are you this fine day?"

A chorus of different replies came back to her and, still laughing, Elia managed to get herself through the doorway. "Goodness, not all at once!" She exclaimed. "Now. Who's hungry? I've brought lunch! Go set the table and wash up while I lay everything out, all right?"

A flurry of activity ensued as the children, anxious for lunch, sped off in different directions.

Elia began to unpack lunch. The meal was simple enough, with bread, cheese, meats, fruit, and milk, but Elia knew it was desperately needed. The children's father was a glassmaker and, although he was talented, demand for his work was not consistent and he struggled to support his large family. His wife had died several years prior whilst giving birth to their youngest child, and it was hard for him to work and look after the children. Elia discovered them by chance; it was, in fact, Philip's sister who told her about them one day. Elia, sympathetic, made it her own personal mission to help the seven children- Harriet, Sally, David, George, Doug, Sarah, and Barry—and become an elder sister figure to them.

She visited them once a week, every Friday, bringing them food and playing with them during the afternoons. They planted gardens, played in the nearby stream, and walked around the village. The villagers jokingly made the parallel between Elia and the children and a mother duck and her chicks, waddling behind her in a straight line.

Today, however, Elia did not have much time with her little ducklings since she had to go back to the castle soon. Nevertheless, she prepared their lunch nicely and sat down with them to eat at their large, circular glass table that their father constructed.

"Is it true that today is the day of the ball?" Sarah, the youngest girl, asked with wide eyes, a rare feat for the perpetually sleepy child.

"It is," Elia replied with a smile. "Although I daresay it shall be incredibly tedious."

"What!" David, the eldest son, sputtered in disbelief. "How can it be? Won't there be many beautiful people there? And the Prince and Princess from Fraanc and Italle will be there as well!" David was forever the inquisitive one. Whether he learn his facts from books or people, he prided himself on being well informed.

"Yes," conceded Elia. "That is true. This ball is being held in their honor, after all."

"And isn't that Prince Raoul terribly handsome?" Harriet, the eldest and most easy going child, said wistfully. "I hear that he is."

Elia could not stop her cheeks from becoming pink. "Aye—he. He is at that," she admitted. "However, my sister is quite enamored with him. I am sure that all of his attentions shall be on her tonight."

George, ever so serious said, frowning, "Well why would he? You are prettier than Princess Victoria."

Elia blinked. No one had ever said _that _to her before. "I—why thank you, George. That is quite kind. But to be sure, Princess Victoria is quite beautiful."

George looked at her. "Not as beautiful as you," he said in the firm, sure way of a child, and went back to dipping his bread in his milk.

The table momentarily descended into silence but almost immediately recovered. The children, happy at such a delicious meal, were content, blissfully chattering away while Elia watched them, a smile on her face. Eventually, however, the meal ended and once the leftovers were packed away for another time, Elia prepared to leave.

"Oh, don't go!" the children begged her as Phillip led her little mare to her. "Please stay a bit longer!"

Elia, looking away so she could hide her grimaces from the children as she got onto the horse, failed to notice Phillip frowning at her. "I told you why I had to go," she said, faking a small laugh as she turned back to face the children. "I need to go put on my party dress so I can go to the ball! How about this? I will stay longer than usual next week and tell you all about the ball. How does that sound?"

The girls, standing on the porch, hopped up and down in excitement, squealing, while the boys pretended to look disinterested, but their eyes were too bright with interest. "Yes, yes!"

Elia laughed again, a real, true laugh that time, and waved, letting Phillip slowly lead her away until the little house with the flower beds and the creaky porch was just a speck in the distance. She gaily told Phillip on all of the children's doings, since he normally asked and took interest. She found it a bit odd that he did not reply at all, walking ahead in complete silence. Eventually she fell silent as well, wondering at his change in nature. It was at that time when Phillip, staring straight ahead and his expression stony, asked her abruptly, "What did Victoria do to you this time?"

Startled, Elia protested, "Phillip, she didn't—"

Scowling, Phillip cut her off, "Don't lie to me," he hissed. "All of these _years, _Eliana, you've been lying to everyone! To me, to your father, to your brother—about all of the _accidents _that happen to you. The slips, the falls, the ruined gowns and the twisted ankles…even if your father and brother are too blind, too naïve, too busy to see it—I do. The guards do. The servants do. We know what Victoria does to you. It needs to stop. Why don't you say anything?"

Elia sat, stunned. She had never heard Phillip speak so candidly, so angrily to her—or to anyone—before. With a sinking heart, she realized that she had not been discreet enough, that people knew about what Victoria did to her. And it scared her. She knew that if Victoria caught wind of anything, what would happen to her next time would be worse—much worse. What lie would she concoct to tell Phillip? Her mind raced.

And yet… Elia was tired. She was tired of hiding and of lying. And what use was it to lie to Phillip? He was an old friend and if she lied to him again—she didn't know what he would do. He definitely would not believe her.

She sighed and told him the whole story, not bothering to leave anything out, but blushing when recalling how Prince Raoul had found her and carried her to her room. "It's… it's a lot better now," Elia said, lifting up her skirt immodestly to show Phillip her injury.

Phillip, silent, assessed the injury with his eyes, though her bandages from the night before remained on the ankle. "Dancing tonight is going to be a nightmare," he told her bluntly. "Any person with a brain would tell you that you need to stay off of it." His clear blue eyes looked up at her, sharp and knowing. "But I realize that you need to make sure that everything is normal, so that can't be helped." By this time they were at the stables. Delicately, Phillip lifted Elia off of the horse and, gallantly giving her his arm, let her lean on him while he escorted her inside. To Elia's surprise, he led her to the kitchens, still a flurry of activity. He led her to a wooden table and bench and forced her to sit. "Wait here," he said, then turning to disappear into the flurry of servants rushing around.

Striving to make herself useful, she turned to the servants busily slicing vegetables. Taking a knife and a cucumber, Elia happily began to chop, the mindless activity distracting her from Phillip's disconcerting manner.

Shortly after, Phillip returned with Rose in tow. Rolling her eyes, Rosie said, "It figures. You leave the girl alone for a minute and she finds a way to help."

Elia frowned. "What's Rosie doing here?" Another person in on her secret.

Phillip gave her a look. "Why do you think?" he shot back as Rosie kneeled before Elia, unexpectedly taking her ankle in hand and beginning to unroll the bandages.

"What—" Elia protested.

"Oh, hush you," Rosie said, taking the herbs off of the swollen ankle. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed softly once she saw the damage. Her eyes filled with tears. Phillip, behind her, swore.

Elia swallowed. Was it really that bad? "Is it—is it infected?" She whispered.

Rosie shook her head. "Luckily you placed the right herbs on here, My Lady," she said. "Otherwise it would be. It looks unseemly now, but… if you take care of yourself, it should be just fine." Tears slipped down Rosie's face. "We all knew it was bad but we never imagined that she would…"

"I'm sorry that anyone ever had an inkling of this," Elia said resolutely. "This is my burden to bear and mine alone."

"No, it's not!" Phillip burst in angrily. "Why haven't you told anyone? The King? Prince James?"

"You think Victoria hasn't thought of that!" Elia said harshly. "You think she hasn't promised more trouble for me if I told anyone? And when I have—the next time has been more harsh and cruel. Telling them is pointless. That's why I just avoid Victoria, that's why I go to meetings with Father and James—if I stay by them and away from her, everyone is better off that way. Last night was just the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding."

" 'Unfortunate misunderstanding'," scoffed Rosie. "You mean that Victoria is just feeling threatened that Prince Raoul may favor you over her."

"Her fears are completely unfounded," Elia shook her head. "But Victoria doesn't view it that way."

"Considering what you told me about last night," Phillip arched an eyebrow at her, "perhaps Victoria has more to worry about than you think. It seems that this Prince Raoul is either an extremely chivalrous individual or he likes you."

"That's ridiculous, Phillip," hissed Elia in pain as Rosie began to rub alcohol on her wound, hoping to draw out any toxins. "Prince Raoul is kind but he is not in any way particular to me. I am sure that all day today, with my absence, Victoria is digging her claws into Raoul."

Rosie sighed. "Well, then, I hope that this Prince Raoul is as smart as I believe him to be and sees her true character." Rosie began to apply some medicine and wrap up Elia's mangled ankle, eyes tearing again at the thought of what her poor little girl had endured, had been enduring for years. Would no one realize what was going on between Victoria and Elia?

Phillip snorted. "I doubt it," he said cynically.

Elia couldn't help but agree.

0 0 0

When Raoul awoke that morning, the sun was already high in the sky, to his utter embarrassment. Had he missed breakfast? For some odd reason, he had a pounding headache. He hadn't even drank much the night before. Sitting up, he looked around the room. His man servant must have come in early—the clothes he had hastily stripped off the night before were gone, and the window was open, the crisp morning air washing away any other scent. Raoul made his way to the water basin, filled with sweet-smelling soap. He washed his hands and face, gratefully splashing the cool water on himself to wake himself up.

What had happened last night? He thought to himself. It was like some bizarre dream. Had he really carried Inglin's youngest princess up the staircase and—he blushed at the thought—nearly tucked her into bed? It seemed like a fantastical dream. He vaguely remembered smelling blood but shook his head. Everything seemed like such a blur as it was. That was probably a dream. What reason, after all, would he smell blood?

Unless… he thought back to Princess Eliana, whose anguished, tear-streaked face seemed imprinted on his mind. She was in pain last night, to be sure, but it was from the alcohol and her aching limbs, right? Or was there something she wasn't telling him? Raoul supposed that if she was injured he would surely be able to find out today. Bandages and wounds were visible, and if he could not see them, then he was sure that her injuries would manifest themselves in her physical manner.

With that resolve, Raoul dressed quickly and made his way down to the great hall. There, he discovered, to his dismay, that he had skipped breakfast entirely and barely made it to lunch. His face flushed as he entered the dining room, berating himself for being so rude as to miss breakfast without informing his hosts. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the other members of the royal family were suffering from the night before as well. King Charles kept yawning and massaging his temples; Prince James could barely keep his eyes open; and, glancing at his sister, found that she too looked quite sleepy still. Queen Cinthia looked fine, although Raoul knew she hadn't drunk much, and Princess Victoria looked like perfection. Raoul made his greetings, wondering where Elia was. Was she in her room sick? Had someone checked up on her? Why was no one else speculating?

"Where is Princess Eliana?" He asked casually as he began to butter a roll.

It was Charles who replied: "Eliana usually does not dine with us Friday afternoons; she likes going into the market and converse with the people. She shall be back in time for the ball tonight." Charles chuckled. "I'm afraid we all drank a little more than we should have last night, but, I assure you that everything—and everyone—will be perfect come ball time."

Raoul almost grimaced. He hated parties. Glancing at Caralina, however, he saw that she visibly brightened. She adored those kinds of things.

"Do you enjoy dancing, Crown Prince?" came a throaty voice next to him. Turning he saw that it was Victoria, her eyes blinking prettily at him, though her stare was much more heated and searching than he was expecting.

"Um," he said elegantly. "Well, you know, I'm—I'm proficient at it. Skill wise. But in terms of enjoyment—um." He didn't want to disappoint her, but was getting so flustered by her that he couldn't keep track of what he was saying.

To her credit, Victoria kept up a smiling and unblinking façade, silently encouraging him to finish his thought.

Raoul cleared his throat and willed himself to finish, despite the discomfort. "In terms of enjoyment—I am. Ahem. – Learning to enjoy it." At this, Caralina shot her brother a disbelieving look, uncaring as to who saw it.

"I hope that you will be so kind as to claim a few spots on my dance card," Victoria murmured, her eyes modestly down although her words were almost obscenely forward.

"I—of course," Raoul said, shocked at her bold words. "I would be most honored to—to dance with you."

Satisfied, Victoria beamed at him. She kept up her conversation with Raoul, completely monopolizing it. Not that anyone minded. King Charles looked ready to fall asleep; James and Caralina were attempting a conversation despite their headaches, and Queen Cinthia was content to retreat into her own little world, eating quietly and steadily.

The rest of lunch went by quietly, with Raoul incredibly uncomfortable and aware of Victoria's intentions. Isn't this what he wanted, though? Didn't he come to Inglin with the intention to court Victoria and create a political alliance?

To be sure, Victoria was beautiful. Her manners were impeccable, if a little bold, and her attentions were flattering. She had all of the grace and poise and beauty a queen should have. But Raoul found that he was more of his mother's son than he thought, and unexpectedly realized that those traits were not enough. He realized that he needed to get to know Victoria more, and the ball was a perfect way of doing so. Perhaps Victoria's coercing him into dancing with her was her attempt of trying to get to know him, too. Well, he would not disappoint her. Now with a clear goal in mind, Raoul smiled, now genuinely looking forward to the ball.

A few hours later found Raoul in front of the mirror, being fussed over by various man servants. He was rather unaccustomed to such attention—at home he only had one personal butler, a quiet, unassuming man named Henri. He would have normally brought Henri along with him but Raoul let the man stay in Fraanc since his wife was to give birth in the upcoming months. It would be cruel to separate a man from his family like that, and so Raoul went to Inglin unattended. James, after having heard of Raoul's plight, supplied him with more than enough butlers and attendants to make Raoul's head spin with all of their chatter. He had never felt so groomed in his life. His hair had been trimmed and touched with a hint of mousse, his shoes shined to perfection, his clothes pressed impeccably… granted, in Fraanc fashion was incredibly important, but Raoul and his family were never ones to follow fashion to the letter.

Nevertheless, he looked rather considerably better than he ever had in his life. He suspected that someone found his coat—a nice, charcoal grey, with dark buttons—and sent it to a tailor, although how they got his measurements so perfect was beyond him. He was a bit nervous about tonight and about whether or not he'd impress Victoria. Of course, an anxious voice in the back of his head reminded him, if Victoria was the sort of person he wanted to marry then he wouldn't have to worry about impressing her. Maybe she'd like him just for who he was.

Trying to quench any doubt, Raoul took one last look in the mirror, and, with hardened resolve, left the room to fetch his sister.

Raoul found Caralina in her room. He was to escort her to the ball, and they would be announced together as the guests of honor. He stopped in the doorway, watching his sister, who had not yet seen him, put final touches on her ensemble for the night.

She was looking especially resplendent that night, wearing a dark red gown that suited her color well. Her cheeks were rosy with delight, and Raoul could tell his sister was especially excited about something. Usually it had to do with some suitor, but Raoul could not recall his sister in the company of any particular lord at Inglin's court… unless he counted Prince James among them.

Raoul tried not to look to sly as he asked, "Looking forward to tonight, I presume?"

Startled, Caralina whirled around. "You sneaky thing!" she admonished, but a smile was on her face. The two siblings surveyed each other. "Aren't you looking dashing tonight?" A knowing grin lit her face. "Don't worry, dearest brother, I am certain that you shall impress a certain Princess Victoria with your polished look."

Resolutely trying not to blush, Raoul playfully narrowed his eyes in mock-annoyance, and realized that since she was getting straight to the point, he might as well, too. "And _I'm _certain, sister dear, that your dress will awe a certain Prince James."

To Raoul's delight, Caralina's cheeks deepened in color, but her eyes did not stray from his as she turned her nose up and tried to act offended. Quickly, however, she deflated and both siblings began to laugh. "Oh, hush you," Caralina finally said good-naturedly. "Goodness, what a silly pair we are! If only Mama and Father could see us at this moment. Heaven knows what they would think of us."

He knew what she was really trying to say, however, and he offered his arm to her gallantly, saying softly, "I'm sure they would be very proud of us. Both of us."

Giving him a winning smile, Caralina hooked her arm into his, and the two siblings left the room and prepared themselves of the daunting task of being introduced into Inglish Noble Society.

0 0 0

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! I'm terrible sorry I've been so lax in updating. For whatever reason, writing this story became akin to torturous for me. I started a new Harry Potter story instead, eager to immerse myself in a new universe. However, I'm back now and back in the flow of things! I made this chapter significantly longer than the previous one in order to make up my absence and previous short chapter. I definitely won't get this story done by the end of summer, as I planned, but I hope to crank out another chapter before summer is over! We shall see.

Thank you so much, everyone, for sticking with this story! I promise you won't regret it.

M. Elena

21 August 2011


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